Experiments in Human Nature
by Keelywolfe
Summary: Set after the first movie, Sam isn't going to be safe from the Decepticons if he stays at home. SLASH Sam/Bumblebee, various other pairings.
1. Forms of Life

Title: Forms of Life

by Keelywolfe

Bumblebee/Sam

Rated R

Author's notes: I couldn't help but notice that we didn't see what happened to Barricade at the end of the movie. Hmmm, better take care of that.

Summary: Sam really hates walking home.

WARNING: Okay, I am not big on warnings, but I am kindly labeling this one for a reference to attempted rape. It's pretty vague but I don't want to upset anyone.

* * *

It was a truth that Sam Witwicky had always known, long before a piece of crap Camaro and alien robots had made an abrupt appearance in his life.

Walking home sucked.

He pulled his collar up a little higher and trudged on along the sidewalk. It was a good thing that he didn't live far from the school because this really was several levels of suck. Not that it was Bumblebee's fault; Optimus himself had apologized for pulling him away but they needed his help with their new base. Their reasons for needing him were definitely of the too long, didn't read category but Sam got the basics. Bumblebee had to help and therefore, Sam had to walk.

Not that he'd strictly had to go to the pep rally but Mikaela had wanted to go and, he suspected, salivate over the jocks in their tight little football uniforms. It was a sad, sad thing but saving the world hadn't given him any muscles that hadn't already been there to begin with.

So that had left him with no car and he could've asked his dad to pick him up but that would have led to lies about where the car was, and it was easier to skip that. Taking his bike had been out for the same reason and they'd missed the last bus of the day. That put him squarely back here, walking home after he'd already walked Mikaela to her place.

Mikaela.

He marched on a little faster. Okay, he didn't have a ton of experience with girls but they'd spent the evening watching football players and her goodnight kiss had been...distant. She didn't want to hurt him, he'd already decided dismally. They'd gone through something extraordinary together but that didn't mean that either of them had like, bonded for life or anything. At least not as boyfriend and girlfriend, they were going to be friends, he was going to make certain of that, and-

Flashing lights and the sharp chirrup of a siren interrupted his thoughts and Sam groaned mentally. This was something that had changed anyway; the police in their nice little town had decided that Sam was their main criminal and were dedicated to keeping a firm handle on him. He'd long since figured out that it was better in the long run to just go with it so he didn't end up with tickets earned with a smart mouth. If he'd learned that lesson sooner, he'd have enough money to take a cab.

Turning towards the car, he slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and raised them placating. "Hey, it's cool, officer, I..."

The hand that grabbed his arm was incredibly strong, yanking him forward towards the car and he had just enough time to see a symbol near the door, a robotic-style face that was so not Autobot...

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_.

Struggling as hard as he could, Sam kicked out at whatever was hauling him in and managed to press the tiny button on the side of his watch. Optimus had given it to him not long after everything had gone down, a way to call them if he ever needed help. He really hoped that he wouldn't be dead before they got here.

"LadiesMan217 aka Samuel Witwicky!" A metallic voice thundered at him. "You will be punished."

"Shit," Sam gasped, scrabbling at the ground and then the doorframe, fighting as hard as he could to just not get pulled inside. His pants slipped down to his hips and tore down his legs as he kicked and fought and he managed one terrified glance over his shoulder and fuck, fuck, he so could not fight a twenty-foot robot on his own...the hell?

It was a human that was pulling him into the car, tearing his pants down to his ankles and swarming over him, forcing him back against the seats, hard hands and a deceptively strong body holding him down. Sam jerked his knee up and managed to catch the cop right between the legs. His expression never changed but Sam felt as much as saw him flicker. Not human then, not even close and he was so, so screwed.

"You will be punished Samuel Witwicky," that voice said again, the cop's mouth moving but the sound came from further away. "I have investigated the methods appropriate for your species and I can assure you-" this time the words came from the cop, false breath hot against Sam's face, "It will be unpleasant." The cop pressed his hips forward, forcing one leg between Sam's and he realized with a touch of real terror that killing him wasn't what was on the Decepticon's mind.

There was no time for a renewed struggling when the night suddenly exploded into light and screeching metal. The car jolted violently, the cop-hologram or whatever hell it was vanishing and with nothing holding him, Sam tumbled out of the open car door and out onto the pavement. The stinging pain in his scraped hands and knees was a distant point in the back of his mind as Sam crawled frantically away, his pants around his ankles hindering him. He caught a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, the familiar smell of gasoline and burning rubber that heralded the arrival of his friends. It was all he could do to hobble as far out of the way as he could so they wouldn't have to worry about hurting him. It was all over far too quickly, almost faster than he could think, and there was a familiar sound of transformation and tires tearing away.

The night was abruptly silent and Sam leaned up weakly on his elbow. Everyone was gone except one shadowy figure, gleaming yellow in the streetlights. It made it easy for Sam to close his eyes and just concentrate on breathing.

The ground shook gently, whirring gears and hydraulics as Bumblebee knelt next to him. "Sam? Are you hurt? I tried to plan the trajectory to allow for your escape undamaged but-"

"I'm fine, Bee, really." Sam realized dimly that his teeth were chattering but it seemed a lot more important at the moment to see the windows up and down the street filling with lights. "You know, I bet this isn't what the feds were thinking of when they told us to be discreet."

Immediately Bee shifted to his car form, the door opening up for Sam to crawl awkwardly inside, flopping into the seat. Warm air blasted from the vent, soothing as an embrace. The engine roared to life and they took off down the street, a rolling advertisement for nonchalant, nothing going on here mannerisms.

"You are aware that it looks like no one is driving, right?" he mumbled. His pants were still around his ankles and Sam tried to decide idly if it was worth pulling them back up. They were torn pretty badly but if his parents were still up he'd have to think of a reason for coming home pantless and if he had to do that, this would officially be the worst day ever.

"You are certain you are unhurt? Your clothing is in disarray." Was it him, or did Bee's voice mod sound oddly...tight.

"I'm fine, really. Does seem like that whenever I'm around that guy someone is always after my pants, though," he said.

Bumblebee made a disagreeable rumbling sound.

"Still no driver," Sam pointed out.

A flicker of light from...somewhere, he wasn't sure, and then the seat was abruptly occupied. A teenager about his age, with dirty blond hair flopping into his eyes was concentrating on the road. He didn't glance Sam's way when he reached out and lightly touched it, his fingers fading through the boy's arm.

"Oh," Sam said, not quite surprised. "It's not solid."

"No, I didn't think it would need to be." Oddly hesitant. "Would you prefer it to be?"

"I didn't know you could do that. Make it solid, I mean."

"It's not that complicated, merely a..." Bee trailed off, probably remembering other occasions of trying to explain to Sam about weird Autobot mojo. "Perhaps it is a little complicated," he conceded.

"He was solid," Sam murmured. "He said he had to punish me, for what I did."

Bee remained silent for a long moment, the only sound was his engine revving to a high whine. When he spoke, his voice modulator was oddly gentle. "Sam, you and your parents are not going to be safe. We are going to have to move you all elsewhere."

"I know," he said, distantly. He was so tired, the scrapes on his hands stinging.

"I am sorry. It seems you have made your planet safe for everyone but yourself."

"It was worth it," he said immediately. Way worth it. Saving the planet, gaining a group of robots as movie night buddies. Way, way worth it.

"We will have to inform your parents of the circumstances."

Suddenly, the annihilation of the human race didn't seem quite as bad. "Aw, man," he groaned, flopping over the arm rest. He came to an abrupt stop against the solid form in the driver's seat and jerked away with a decidedly unmanly squawk of surprise.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I thought you wanted-"

"No, no, it's cool, I just thought I'd like, see something happen or...I don't know. Something."

"If it was a visual change, it would hardly be discreet."

"Can't argue that," Sam yawned. He reached down and managed to wriggle into his a bit too well-worn jeans. "Give me a nudge when we get home, would you?"

"Of course, Sam."

The seat shifted, moving automatically into a position that would be most comfortable for sleeping. Sam ignored it and moved instead to lean his head against the shoulder of the figure in the driver's seat. He could feel warmth seeping through its...his t-shirt, the flesh beneath it firm but with realistic give. With his head on the driver and his hand wrapped loosely around the gear shift, Sam drifted off to sleep.

Whatever gods hadn't been with him at the beginning of the night had rejoined them by the time Bumblebee had awoken him at his house. His parents hadn't given him more than a cursory goodnight since he was at least five minutes before curfew and he'd gone upstairs for an uneventful shower before falling into bed.

Where he'd been lying for about three hours now, unable to sleep. He'd heard his parents come upstairs a long time ago, could hear his father's snoring creeping in under the door. But wherever the Sandman was, he hadn't chosen to make a stop at Sam Witwicky's bedroom. He glanced at his clock and watched as 3:18am slipped to 3:19. 3:20.

"Hell with it," he muttered, slipped out of bed. He pulled on a pair of clean jeans and a t-shirt before padding silently downstairs in his bare feet and out the front door. Bee was parked in a shadowy section of the driveway, having refused previous offers of the garage in order to provide the best protection he could.

"Sam? What's wrong? Are your injuries worsening?" No hint that he'd been resting at all. Sam wondered if they ever did.

"No, I'm fine, I...I just...can you make your hologram again?"

"Sam, I have researched the reactions of people who have gone through trauma like you have and I am concerned about-

"I am not traumatized," he said impatiently. "I just can't talk to a giant robot in my backyard so much, so can you please?"

"If you like." The teenager that he'd seen driving his car earlier that night reappeared in a shimmer of light not unlike the Star Trek that Bumblebee was so fond of quoting. He was leaning against the car door, hands in his pockets, and his eyes were on Sam.

"I like, thanks. I tell you, I am about a hundred times more traumatized imagining talking to my parents tomorrow than by anything that Decepticon bastard did." He sighed, the hologram's green eyes watching him with a reasonable facsimile of concern. "You have no idea what I mean, do you?"

"Not specifically, having neither progeny nor a progenitor. However, I can easily understand how one might fear disappointing a superior."

Sam gave him a lopsided smile, "I guess you-hey!" He took a double take. "He spoke."

"Of course he did, is he not me?" The hologram, no, Bumblebee said, dryly. "You did say you didn't want to speak to a giant robot."

Guilt flooded him. "I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," he soothed. Of course he would. Bumblebee always knew exactly what he meant.

"I just-" he sighed again. "They've worked really hard for everything here and now I'm going to tell them they have to leave."

"I'm sure they will understand, Sam, and I can't see them having any arguments about keeping you safe."

"I know, I know." Sam ran one hand through his hair roughly. A hand on his arm nearly made him stifle a scream but it was only Bumblebee's hologram, his touch gentle.

"None of this is your fault, Sam, you must remember that," Bumblebee said quietly and Sam marveled distantly that he could feel breath, just like he had earlier. It was absolutely the weirdest, coolest thing ever, how they could mimic humanity so clearly but really, that was just a thing with them, wasn't it? Mimicking, disguising. Stood to reason that after a few thousand years they'd be pretty damn good at it. He blinked a little and realized guiltily that Bee was still talking.

"...grandfather's fault if it is anyone's, although laying the blame with him is not quite appropriate either...Sam? Are you all right?"

He was leaning in way past the point of Bee's comfort zone, if he'd been human. It still made Sam flush a little and step back. "Maybe we should get inside before my parents see me talking to a strange guy at three am. Might as well not make them worry sooner than they need to."

Both doors swung open obligingly and Sam slipped into the backseat, saw the holo-Bee hesitate a moment in surprise before he joined him.

"I still think that it won't be as bad as you're fearing," Bee told him, leaning against the window in a little getting-comfy gesture that was so human that Sam felt strange doing the same. "There are several options available. Your government already expressed concern about your family remaining as you are in a civilian population.

"Great, so they'll hide us on some military base like we're prisoners," Sam snorted. "That'll make them happy."

"Perhaps, but I believe that they were more inclined to change your identities and let you begin your lives afresh. It will be similar, at least, to your lives now." A faint smile curved one corner of his mouth. "I'm sure the government would assist your parents in creating a new garden."

Sam couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, that'll be a great selling point. A government-mandated garden, mom, how can you go wrong!"

"Another option would be for your family to join us," Bumblebee continued, quietly. "It would be a different sort of life for you all, but I promise that we would all protect you to the best of our abilities. I would not see you hurt, Sam."

The promise in those words was as hard as stone, as steel, and it made Sam blush again, stupidly. "I know you wouldn't."

"That option would perhaps be best for allowing Mikaela to accompany you," Bee added and Sam was shaking his head before he'd even finished.

"No, no, absolutely not, she is not coming. They knew my name, not Mikaela's. She deserves a chance to live a normal life."

Bumblebee looked thoughtful, digesting this piece of information. "I understand, but she may feel differently."

"She isn't getting a choice," Sam said firmly. There was no way in hell he was going to uproot her life just because she felt too guilty to break up with him. "Besides, I won't exactly be lonely; you'll be there with me." It made him smile a little, just to think of it.

"Anywhere." Not a millisecond of hesitation. Holo-Bee smiled, his head tilting slightly in a way that made his hair slip down over his eyes. Without thinking, Sam reached out and pushed it back, fingers sifting through incredible softness that wasn't, quite, like any hair he'd ever touched. It made him want to touch it again, slipping one hand into it to curve around his head.

"Can you feel this?" Sam asked curiously. Quietly.

Wide green eyes were on his. "I...could. A hologram that is within close proximity can be connected with receptors. It would be similar to human touch sensory."

He felt the change that he hadn't seen before when Bumblebee had made it solid, a low humming vibration just beneath the skin that wasn't nearly as strange to him as it would have been...had it only been a few months? It felt like the Autobots had already been here forever, that life before Bumblebee hadn't even existed and the hologram beneath his hands had closed his eyes, lips parted and damp and Sam realized he'd been practically massaging Bumblebee's scalp, fingers sliding through oh, so soft hair and...

Sam didn't think, really, that he'd meant to do this. Didn't actually mean to be practically straddling the anthropomorphic personification of his best friend, seriously didn't think he'd meant to be feeling him up. Kissing him, though, pressing his mouth against Bee's open one, well. That he'd meant to do. Seriously.

Just pushed his tongue into that soft, wet, oh god, soft mouth and remembered that one time at summer camp and Charlie Smyth's awkward, sticky kiss, tasting of marshmallows and chocolate and heat. Bee tasted like...he wasn't sure. It was like if purple was a flavor, an electric current that wasn't quite connecting, like holding a penny on your tongue.

He thought maybe he was clutching Bee's head a little too hard, holding him still and _please, don't pull away, not yet, not_ ...and then the seat was abruptly beneath his back, skin-warmed leather and Bee over him, one knee between his legs like earlier and

_nothing, it was nothing like earlier_

Pushed him back against the seat, his mouth clumsy against Sam's and his hands...shaking?

"Bee," Sam tried, pushing feebly at his shoulders and had he thought Bee was clumsy? If he had been, he was learning damned quickly and this was nothing like summer camp, cool hands skimming beneath his shirt, unerringly finding a nipple and pinching it was just the perfect amount of force to make Sam arch up with a gasp. His hands decided suddenly that this was the best idea ever and they grabbed at Bee's shoulders, pulling him down.

He was so making out with his car in the backseat of his...car, and it made him laugh breathlessly, the sound captured in Bee's mouth as it pressed back over his. He was making out with his car and they were so going to come in their pants in about a minute and half, or not even because there was a hand sliding into his pants, wrapping itself around him and he'd done this much with Mikaela but even she didn't know how to twist her hand so, oh, god, perfectly, and rub a thumb over the very tip, pressing hard for just a second and when he came he swore he saw sparks behind his eyes.

"Oh...I...oh!" Bumblebee was still rubbing against his thigh, the hard line of an erection that wasn't his own was strange but it didn't stop Sam from reaching down and squeezing it through the layer of denim and whatever underclothes Bee had thought appropriate. Changing tactics to push his hand into Bee's jeans he found out that it was no underwear at all, just a damp fog of heat and skin that felt real, real, real in his palm. Another guy's cock, even if it wasn't quite actual, it wasn't a lie either and Sam wrapped his hand around it and stroked in the best Sam's Happy Time way he knew how.

It seemed that robot facsimiles liked masturbation, too. Bumblebee shuddered, moaning loudly and Sam felt more than heard the metallic hum underlying his voice, Bee's eyes glowing sharply blue and then he relaxed abruptly, limp weight on top of Sam forcing the breath out of him.

"Can't breathe here," he wheezed, pushing a little against him. Nothing. "Bee?" It took all of his strength to wriggle out from under him, sliding down to sit on the floor while he inspected the limp form on the seat, "Bee, are you all right? Bumblebee?"

"75% of receptors online," he said in a low monotone. It echoed metallically, all traces of humanity absent. "Connecting...connecting...connection made. Systems online in three...two...one..." He sucked in a sharp breath and relaxed, blinking. "Sam?" he murmured, his voice normal.

"What the hell was that? Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, that was...powerful," he coughed a little, clearing his throat. "It sent my systems offline for a moment and they needed to reboot." Bee raised a still trembling hand to his head and pushed his hair back. Sweaty hair, Sam noticed, blinking. Christ, that was dedication to an illusion. "I've never felt anything like that," Bee admitted.

"You've never done _anything _like that?" Sam winced. Holy god, he'd just deflowered a thousand-year old virgin.

"Not precisely. I am a robotic life form, Sam," he said wryly. "My kind reproduces with energy, not touch. If I wished, I could be intimate with another of my kind from light-years away through wifi."

"Seriously?"

"Of course. I am transmitting this incident to Optimus as we speak for analysis."

"WHAT?" He stared at Bumblebee with pure embarrassed horror.

"I'm kidding, Sam." Bright amusement in his eyes.

"That's not funny," he muttered. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I believe I overcompensated for the amount of sensory information in the human form. Next time, I will-" He cut off abruptly, color rising in his cheeks. Okay, so autonomous robot organisms could, in fact, be embarrassed.

"Next time you'll do better?" Sam prompted. Bee's smile was so brilliant that Sam almost felt guilty. This was probably the worst idea ever, but dammit, if he couldn't have the girl, he should be able to have the car, right?

"Yes, I will do better," There was a promise in those words, spoken low and...okay, if Bee was cruising the internet to learn seduction techniques then he wasn't sure he was going to be able to have a choice about the car.

What the hell. Sam leaned forward enough to wrap his arms around Bumblebee's waist and pressed his face against his belly. Warmth seeped through, soothing him almost as much as the gentle hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair.

"My parents would be safer with a whole new identity, wouldn't they," Sam said, not really a question. The words were muffled into Bumblebee's t-shirt. "I know you guys would do everything to protect them, but the Decepticons will be coming for you and they would be in the crossfire. Wouldn't they."

"Yes." A fingertip traced his ear, making him shiver. He really did need to see what webpages Bumblebee had been cruising.

"So that's what they are going to do," Sam took a deep breath. "And I'm coming with the Autobots."

He felt Bumblebee stiffen, felt him try to pull away but he couldn't do it without hurting Sam and eventually he subsided, still rigid in Sam's arms. "I am not going to take you away from your parents. As I said, I do not have progeny but that does not mean I'll steal another's."

"I've been eighteen for a month and that makes me an adult in human terms and you know it, you aren't stealing me from anyone." Sam glared up at him but didn't let go. "If you'll go anywhere that I will, then don't I get the same option?"

"It is hardly the same!"

"No, it's not," Sam said agreeably. "But it's my choice. If you don't like it, does that mean you'll stop protecting me?" Sam held his breath, well aware that Bumblebee didn't actually owe him anything, that the hologram he was holding was just that and could melt away at anytime.

"Of course not." Slowly, Bee relaxed again, his hands returning to Sam's hair to gently stroke. "I shouldn't have allowed this," he sighed.

"Allowed...?"

"Do you think I was unaware of your attraction, Sam?"

Well, considering that Sam had been pretty unaware..."I guess not."

"It doesn't matter now." Breath rustled his hair, lips pressing against the top of his head. "I will protect you, Sam Witwicky. Always."

"I know," Sam yawned. Sleep that had seemed so elusive before was creeping up on him. "Let's take care of tomorrow, you know, tomorrow, okay?"

The radio clicking on was the only response, soothing music low and soft, and Sam drifted away with his head on Bumblebee's lap, never noticing when the hologram dimmed slightly, receptors returning to their original duty of scanning the surrounding area for anything that might endanger the sleeping young man.

It didn't dim completely, the one hand resting on Sam's head perfectly still and the hologram's eyes were closed, absorbing every piece of sensory information available and storing it away in the infinite space available in an autonomous robotic organism, from the temperature of his skin to the slow, steady beat of his heart, mimicked perfectly within his own artificial chest.

-finis-


	2. Too Human

Too Human  
by Keelywolfe

* * *

When Sam had asked him to assist in speaking with his parents, it hadn't even occurred to Bumblebee to refuse. It was only going to be a simple relay of information, then his parents would be escorted to Ironhide who was parked just out of sight of their driveway. He would then take them to the Government agents they had contacted about the recent incident and they would provide new identities for the elder Witwicky's.

The issue would only be complicated by the fact that Sam would not be going with them, but he trusted that Sam would be able to console his parents about that issue. He had stated he was an adult and capable of making decisions regarding his own destiny so therefore, their protests should be minimal.

That had been three hours ago and they still hadn't managed to even bring up that the Witwicky's needed to be leaving. From the moment the door had opened and Sam's mother had seen them, they had in short order been seated at the dining room table, plied with various human food items, and listened to Mrs. Witwicky speak about...anything. Bumblebee's rapidly decharging sensors were having difficulty keeping up.

The new topic of conversation had made Sam's heart rate speed up considerably.

"I never did think that she was right for you," his mother was saying. "A lovely girl, of course-"

"Mom, I am not gay," Sam's words were muffled by his hands over his face.

"Now, dear, you know your father and I are very open-minded, and you should know we don't mind you bringing your boyfriend over for breakfast."

"Bumblebee is not my boyfriend!"

"Bumblebee," she repeated brightly. "What an interesting name, are you in a band?"

Startled to have the conversation directed towards him, Bumblebee fumbled for something to say, stammering out, "I...no...I mean-"

"I'm sure your parents must be fascinating people."

His receptors in the hologram were sending him warning flashes of imminent power failure. This was taking entirely too long.

Pulling out a wallet that he'd just fabricated, Bumblebee flashed them a very good reproduction of one of the badges he'd seen the government officials had. "Mrs. Witwicky, I'm sorry to intrude on you this morning, but we have a crisis on our hands at the moment and for your own safety, we need you and your husband to come with us."

All three of the Witwickys were staring at him now. "What-we were just-" It seemed he'd finally found a way to catch Sam's mother off-guard.

"Terrorism is a major concern in our country right now, as you know," Bumblebee continued smoothly, managing to get Mrs. Witwicky to her feet and urging her towards the front door. "And we appreciate any and all assistance our citizens provide."

"Of course we want to help the country," Sam's father sputtered, following along behind them. A few moments of persuasion and both of the bewildered and protesting adults were seated in Ironhide's backseat, his holographic driver scowling at Bumblebee as he waved at their departing forms.

Standing in the driveway, Sam was staring at him incredulously. "What the hell was that, Mister Government Agent?"

"I panicked!" Bumblebee said defensively. "Besides, they weren't likely to believe it without seeing one of us in our robotic form and you said that you didn't want any more robots in your backyard. Too awkward to explain to the neighbors were your words, I believe."

"So it was better to pretend you were with the FBI?" Sam said, disbelieving.

"It was National Security. I'm sure Ironhide will explain everything when they reach their destination."

"Oh, yeah, because Ironhide is big on conversation."

Bumblebee decided to ignore that on the principle that Sam was entirely too correct. "They survived their previous incarceration with minimal trauma and we will set up a secure line so you can contact them in the next few days."

That finally seemed to mollify him. "I guess we really did need to get them out of here."

"Yes, it was for their own safety," Bumblebee latched on to the idea gratefully. Of course, their safety had been foremost in his thought processors. Really. It had. Still..."Your mother is very confusing."

Sam snorted. "Tell me about it. Well, do we have time for me to grab a few things? I know the government goons are going to come pack up everything else but there's a couple things I'd like to take."

"Yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to do it on your own. My receptors are dying."

Sam's heart rate and blood pressure spiked so high that an alarm blared in his sensory output. "You're dying?"

"No, no, of course not. Only the receptors I used to make the hologram." Sam did not appear to be reassured. "They are constantly being replaced in my system normally, similar to your red blood cells. It affects me no differently than if you were to donate blood. As they have no power source of their own, being separated from me eventually drains them."

"So I'm standing next to floating dead pieces of you?" Sam wrinkled his nose.

Bumblebee decided to try a new facial expression he'd read about and rolled his eyes. It was surprisingly satisfying. "You humans leave pieces of dead skin and hair littered all over your world and I have yet to hear a complaint."

"Yeah, yeah, get back outside and reconnect or whatever before you croak."

"Don't take too long," he cautioned.

He stayed long enough to watch Sam run up the stairs to his bedroom before he stepped outside and into his car form, allowing the hologram to dissolve and the receptors to rejoin his system the moment he was certain no humans were watching. He set them immediately to scanning the area, checking for any sign of the Decepticons. They had been hiding very well and he doubted they would attack so bluntly in the middle of the day for something so base as revenge, but it was unwise to assume anything where Decepticons were concerned. Especially considering the attack the night before.

It was what the humans called luck, what an Autobot would consider a particularly remarkable coincident, that they had been on their way back to the city when he had received Sam's signal. Bumblebee had Optimus to thank for that. He had noticed Bumblebee's discomfort in leaving his charge alone for so long and had ended their work for the day early. If he hadn't...it didn't bear considering. He'd already had to shut down his probability calculators because he couldn't stop running the figures on it. 23 minutes later and the probability of death was 98 percent, twelve minutes later, probability of completed torture and rape, with probable fatality, 82 percent...

He felt the energy signature of another Autobot approaching and immediately every firewall he had flew up, his internal security tightening.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think, after your broadcast last night," Ratchet said, jovially.

It was, rather - trust Ratchet to bring it up. He left the firewalls in place nonetheless, not desiring a repeat performance. Sam had been horrified enough last night when Bumblebee had been teasing him. He'd probably not be happy to discover it had been half truth. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that to Sam."

"Oh, of course, of course. A shame though. It was fascinating to see a species not having to complete their mating act to enjoy it. I had a few questions I would have liked to ask him."

"Ratchet!" Bumblebee hissed.

"Oh, come now," Ratchet chuckled. "You must know that we all cut you off when we realized it was an unintentional transmission. Only I kept minimal contact and you are aware of my reasons."

"Just don't mention it to him, all right?"

"I already said I wouldn't." If Ratchet had had eyebrows, they would have been raised. "You seem very defensive about a simple act of simulated mating with an organic species. Although, I certainly never took you for a simi."

Bumblebee bristled instantly at the slur. Many 'bots assumed holos of other species, out of curiosity or investigation but there were those who took it too far, immersing themselves for their own pleasure, to the detriment of the other species. He snapped out, "I would never endanger Sam like that!"

"I am aware of that," Ratchet told him, his voice mod even and cool. "I'd also like to remind you that I have been maintaining your systems since before you were given spark, so I'll ask you to watch your tone."

That he was also Bumblebee's superior was unspoken but true nonetheless. "My apologies. I didn't mean any insult."

"I know," Ratchet's tone was considerably warmer. "What I was trying to say, although my choice of words seems to have been poor, is that since you are unfamiliar with simulated mating, you need to be cautious until you become accustomed. I saw that you had a power shutdown last night."

"Yes," he mumbled, embarrassment returning.

"Was it detrimental to any of your systems?"

"No, it just required a reboot."

"Mmhmm. And you ran a diagnostic?"

"Of course," he said, exasperated.

"Can't blame me for asking," Ratchet said bluntly. "You never take proper care of yourself."

"I have you for that," Bumblebee said, only partly teasing.

Ratchet made a harrumphing noise. "Yes, yes. It is interesting, though, that most humans do place great value on their privacy. I've come to realize that the select few on the internet are an anomaly."

"Yes."

"Sam in particular is cautious about his sexual proclivities."

"Yes, he is," Bumblebee gritted out, not at all liking this direction of conversation.

Ratchet didn't seem inclined to give it up. "He would be uncomfortable, I assume, were you to engage him in the company of the other Autobots."

"I would imagine so."

"And Optimus and the others will be meeting us outside the city," Ratchet's tone was infinitely patient. "It may be some time before you are able to be alone again."

Dawning awareness and if he'd had hands at the moment, one of them would have been slapping his forehead.

"Go after the boy, fool." Affectionately. "I shall stand guard."

It was an easy matter to concentrate into shifting his visual and sensory perceptions into a temporary human form, letting his backup sensors shifts down into a secondary position on guard. Without even a backwards glance at Ratchet, Bumblebee returned to the house and followed Sam up the stairs. When he walked silently into the room, Sam was leaning down to look under his bed, a position that put his backside as the most accessible part of his body. There was temptation there, and wariness, the new aspect of their relationship still fragile as a newly created energon cube and filled with strange conventions and rules that Bumblebee was still studying. There was at least a forty percent chance that Sam would react poorly the concept he was exploring.

But then, Bumblebee had always preferred to ride the edge of probability.

Stepping forward, he cupped Sam's hips in his hands and rocked his own against Sam's backside suggestively.

Shock/fear/surprise flared along with Sam's heartrate as he jerked away and spun around, all of them turning to irritation/_arousal_/ confusion/_arousal_ as he saw who it was.

"You asshole, you scared the hell out of me!" Sam gave him a halfhearted shove.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Bumblebee gave him a wide eyed look that he had interpreted in others as innocence.

Sam scowled at him. "Oh, please, don't even try that. You totally meant to do that."

"Yes," he agreed. He also meant it when he pushed Sam down onto the bed despite his startled protest, gently holding him still for a kiss. Again, there was that peculiar mixture of fear/shock/_arousal_ detectable in his pheromones. But arousal was the strongest by far.

It was so strange, this form of sensory input. He could feel things in his natural form, of course. He needed to be able to feel to adjust machinery and weapons and pain was only a way for damaged receptors to transmit their injuries. Pleasure was reserved for the internal, a melding of two sparks that became one in a way that organics could only crudely replicate.

This, with Sam, was so very different. He could mimic the sensation that all organics used to feel easily but he had never before had the desire to try, reserving it for those life forms who couldn't properly meld and the simis who only wished to slum around with beings that they deemed lesser.

Before Sam, he'd never understood the simple desire to touch. Bumblebee wanted to touch him, hold him, capturing Sam's wrists in his hands and pinning him gently to the bed. The skin on the inside of his arm was petal-soft, the thrum of Sam's pulse pattering wildly against it. His mouth was wet, a different kind of soft and Bumblebee had never known that there were different kinds of soft. That the lobe of a human ear was the perfect tenderness to caress with a tongue, that Sam would gasp when he did it, arching his hips up in a wordless plea. Bumblebee had never even known that he could want to do this. Crude, yes, strange, yes, but powerful in a way that his processors had never conceived.

More than that, he wanted to make Sam feel it as well.

"Should we be doing this?" Sam's protest was less than half-hearted, his hands pulling free of Bumblebee's loose grip to slid under his t-shirt, slim fingers skimming over Bumblebee's form in a way that made him shudder, his eyes slipping shut.

"Ratchet is standing guard," he murmured against Sam's throat, licking that one place where he could feel the pulse thrumming, quick and steady. He felt it the moment Sam realized what he'd said, the pulse fluttering in an indication of shock.

"You told Ratchet that you were coming upstairs to have sex with me?" He sounded truly horrified and Bumblebee was quick to correct him.

"Of course not." He left out that it was rather the opposite.

It was easy enough to coax him back down, his dark eyes slipping shut as Bumblebee slipped Sam's shirt over his head and explored the wealth of newly bared skin. It was fascinating to him, each tiny new detail savored and recorded to his main database. The different textures of the paler skin as to compare to the tiny nipples that hardened when he licked at them and the breathy sound that Sam made when he did it. He tried it again, curiously, sucking lightly on the little nub and this time Sam's hands slipped into his hair, clenching loosely. Again, a little harder and Sam's fingers tightened, his breath catching.

"God, you're mean," Sam whispered.

Mean? Bumblebee considered that. Mean as an adjective, relating to cruelty...ah. Cruel to tease, perhaps. He hadn't meant to tease.

"Humans like to rush things." He moved lower to whisper it against Sam's belly, felt the rising heat coming from lower still. The soft little hairs beneath his navel seemed to lead Bumblebee in that direction and he obeyed them, pinching them in his lips to feel Sam tremble at the touch.

"Robots like to...oh, god!" Sam's retort was cut off as Bumblebee cupped him through his pants and squeezed firmly. Such a human thing he was holding in his hand, penis, cock, dick, tallywacker, dozens and dozens of euphemisms pouring through his data processors, in a dozen languages. The central point of pleasure in the human male and Bumblebee shifted so that his replication of it could press against Sam's thigh, rubbing just enough so Sam could feel it. Not quite real in the way Sam was, but it was what Bumblebee had to offer, the only way he could express his very true desire to this life form.

So delicate. He measured it against his palm through the rapidly heating denim. Humans were all so delicate, bones and blood and messy organics. Only a few months ago in human time he would have been a little disgusted to even consider doing anything like this. And here he was, pressing a warm, all-too-sweet little human down so that he could rip open the fly of his pants and truly touch, pressing his nose against the soft nest of hair and process all the scents involved. Pheromones and sweat, salt-warm and all distinctive to this one human, who was gasping now, gulping in air and his hands were clenched in Bumblebee's hair in a way that would have hurt him if he had been human. As it was, he relished the tiny pain that his sensors expressed to him in the way a human would feel it. He wanted to feel all of this like Sam would; that, at least, they could share.

There were approximately 260 million webpages on the internet with erotic content on the World Wide Web and Bumblebee had accessed all of them with a sense of distant curiosity and disdain. He had never imagined putting that information to good use.

The head of Sam's cock was in near perfect proportion with the average size of the rest of it. Bumblebee processed that fact distantly, most of his senses caught up in trying to suck it properly, pressing his tongue into the little slit at the tip. The lovely little sounds Sam was making, strangled and base, indicated that he was doing it properly. Gentle suction combined with pressure and tongue motion. He didn't envy the humans who attempted this.

It was over far too quickly but not unexpectedly. Bumblebee was aware that Sam and Mikaela had never attempted this and teenage human males were not noted for their longevity. The hot spurt of semen over his tongue was gratifying on its own, his receptors analyzing it immediately and storing all the information about it, from temperature to a chemical profile. After all, he couldn't mimic something without knowing what made it up.

Sam was trembling, sweat-slick and fragile in more ways than only physical, Bumblebee sensed. He crawled up the bed to crouch over him, kissing the sweaty mass of his hair, his eyes, his lips. Felt the hesitant flinch away from Bumblebee's probing tongue before he accepted it, surely tasting himself on Bumblebee's mouth. It's all right, Bee wanted to tell him. It's all right, it's you, and every piece of you is precious to me.

He was rushing this. Bumblebee knew it with grim certainty. Ratchet might make jokes about simulated matings but it was no such thing to the young, so young, human in his arms. They hadn't even known each other long at all, not as humans reckon things and certainly not as Autobots did. But it felt like an age.

Sam's interest had been unmistakable. Inexperienced as Bumblebee was in the ways of organics, he was certainly aware enough to notice the signs of attraction in another. Humans and Autobots were not so different in that. The voice, the expressions, the gestures that came with it were terribly similar and he had known from the beginning, even if Sam had not.

And that had kept him from encouraging it. Bumblebee had even tried to better Sam's relationship with Mikaela, would have done nearly anything by then to help him gain happiness. Bumblebee would have been content to take his own satisfaction in that. Not dictated by physical urges as humans were, friendship was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

Then Sam had asked on his own, had taken the steps that Bumblebee hadn't dared to contemplate even in the deepest portion of his processors. And all because of Barricade. It was a peculiar irony; he had never thought he'd owe a debt to a Decepticon for anything but certainly not for their penchant for cruelty.

But it was still desperately new. Sam hadn't even consciously considered doing this until last night. Not even sixteen hours ago he had been kissing his girlfriend goodnight.

So caught up in his thoughts as he was, he didn't notice at first that Sam was kissing his way lower, obviously intent on reciprocation. Bumblebee caught his chin lightly and stopped him, licking softly at his mouth.

"You don't have to do that." If he was horrified by the idea of standing next to dead receptors, Bumblebee didn't envision he'd appreciate ingesting them.

"I do." Stubborn, yes, that was another trait that Sam shared with many Autobots, including the one he was in bed with. "Unless-" Sam faltered a moment before his expression firmed. "Unless you'd rather fuck me?"

The last time Bumblebee had been rendered so speechless was when his vocal processors had been torn from his throat.

"Do you want to?" And Bumblebee wasn't sure where Sam had learned that coy little head tilt but he suddenly had to urge to kill anyone else who might have possibly seen it.

"Yes," he finally managed. Oh, yes. When an Autobot interfaced with another of their kind, it began with a connection. Humans were so very different; much of their mating came before and Bumblebee had struggled with it. His sensors cried for that connection and the sense of completion that came with it. Without it, he felt like a program was endlessly looping even as he basked in the anticipation.

It made it too easy to roll Sam over onto his belly, to finish pulling off his pants and leave him with nothing but warm, bare skin that was waiting for him. His database helpfully provided all the reasons this was a bad idea. Sam had just lost the equivalent of his entire life, he had been physically assaulted not twenty-four hours before, he was young, so terribly young.

Bumblebee cut it off ruthlessly. Perhaps he wasn't so different from the simi-lovers as he'd thought. But Sam had already given up so much because of them, unwillingly or not. He'd given up nearly any attempt of a normal human life simply by having a page on Ebay. I'll make it worth it, Sam, he promised in silence, etching it deeply into his data backup. I'll make it worth everything.

His receptors could provide him with a small amount his own lubricant, wonderfully slippery, and it was strange to feel it from this side rather than internally, rubbing his fingers together. Ever so lightly, he touched the small of Sam's back, rubbing in an approximation of a soothing manner. The muscles beneath his hands relaxed, tension that Sam was probably unaware of easing away, only to return slightly as Bumblebee's fingers dipped lower, into the very top of the cleft of his backside.

Virgin. That was the human word for it in Sam's portion of his world, and how strange that all humans spoke different languages. Virgin was a word that Bumblebee would hardly equate to himself in Autobot terms but as far as human matings went, he and Sam were on a level playing field. Except for the fact that Bee had terabytes of information available to him concerning this very act and all of it told him to be gentle, to be slow, pressing only one finger inside at a time and, oh...again, it was nothing like he might have expected. Hot, tight flesh clenching around his single finger and Sam made a little sound that might have been interpreted as discomfort but according to his pheromones was something else entirely.

Fear.

Bumblebee slipped down to lie next to him, wrapping his free arm awkwardly around Sam's neck from the front so he could pull him closer, whispering against the sensitive skin of his ear. "I would never hurt you, Sam."

The pressure around his finger relaxed minutely, the slickness easing his passage and he pressed deeper, feeling for the place that hundreds of text files spoke of. Knew he found it when the sound of Sam's gasps changed and the cant of his hips moved towards his touch. Bee pressed it again, then again, eager to hear those soft little sounds. Just this much he could have, just this much of a connection to ease that growing restlessness, endlessly searching for a connection that wasn't quite within his reach.

"Bee," Sam groaned, pushing back on his fingers and Bumblebee interpreted that as a plea for more, adding another finger. The stretch was a little harder, the pressure more difficult to circumnavigate but Sam didn't flinch away, arching into it even though it was surely uncomfortable. Pleasure mixed with pain, a concept that Bumblebee had never had the opportunity to explore and didn't care to now. All his senses where swamped with Sam, the scent of him, chemical analysis so distant he was hardly aware of it. The physical sight of him, flushed and sweating, the redness of his lips, parted with his harsh breathing and humans were far from Bumblebee's concept of beauty and yet Sam was. Oh, he was.

"Enough, Bumblebee," Sam panted out, whimpering as Bee pushed his fingers in again just to feel that sweet stretch easing.

"It's too soon," Bee frowned. The data was very specific and this was too fast, far too-

"Oh, God!"

Too soon, they were rushing this, rushing-

"Ah, that's so good..."

Sam was afraid, he could detect the sharper chemical scent of fear mixed with arousal pheromones-

"Please!"

Bee closed his eyes to cut off the visual. "Yes, Sam."

It was easier to simply make his clothes disappear, less strain on his power cells to keep maintaining them. He stroked a slick hand over his own penis, hissed at the feeling of it. His receptors were giving him an approximation of human sensation and if Sam felt only half as good as this...it was easier than he thought to sprawl between Sam's legs, positioning himself and the skin beneath his was so hot and soft. He pressed a kiss between Sam's shoulder blades and then pressed against that one place where humans could allow a connection.

Tight, so tight, and Bumblebee pressed a little harder, not daring to force his way inside. "Sam, you must relax or this will be...uncomfortable." He didn't say hurt, couldn't, no matter how true it might be. He would make it not be true.

Sam was shaking beneath him, his hands clenched tightly in the bedsheets but he nodded a little, and the impossible tightness eased a little, just enough for Bee to press barely inside.

"Ohh!" Bumblebee had no idea which one of them moaned, only knew that he couldn't hold back from the connection anymore, pushing deeply inside that hot, slick tightness and no, he had more control than this, no, he couldn't hurt him. Sam was writhing beneath him, crying out, couldn't hurt him. Except Sam was pushing back against him, demanding wordlessly and Bumblebee was finding that he was helpless against giving Sam everything he wanted. Especially this.

Pulling back a little, Bumblebee grasped Sam's hips and guided him to his knees. Easier this way, yes, but if he'd known how much deeper he could get, that perfect tightness swallowing him up, yes, yes.

"Yes," Bee moaned aloud. Needing Sam to know he was enjoying this as much, that the connection was complete, all his senses clamoring with joy and demanding more, more. A deep thrust and Sam made a sound that was close to a yowl, one of his hands flailing beneath him so he could stroke himself and Bumblebee quickly batted that hand away, wanting to feel this himself. All of it, the hot clasp of Sam around him, the hot, damp skin of his cock in the palm of his hand as he stroked him roughly in the way Sam was begging him for. It was so better, so much better than anything he could have considered.

Red warnings clamored in his vision and he backed off his receptors, desperately trying not to overload them again. Not now, not now, not this time, almost too much, riding the edge of excess and he was lost in his own pleasure, barely feeling the rush of Sam's orgasm in slick, messy heat in his hand. It was there, it was coming and...there.

_Connection._

By the time his sensors powered back up, Sam had managed to get out from under him and was watching him with a bemused expression. "Are you going to do that every time we have sex? Because if you are, I am so on top next time."

"I hadn't planned on doing it at all," Bumblebee admitted awkwardly, well aware that Ratchet would know exactly what had happened. There was a conversation to look forward to.

Sam looked entirely too pleased with himself. Bumblebee supposed he had a right, if he considered a power overload to be the equivalent of a human passing out. Perhaps it was. "Did I hurt you?" Bee asked suddenly, abruptly aware that this was not something Sam had done before, even with another human. Virgin, virgin, no longer.

"If you did, you can do it again sometime," Sam yawned. "That was intense."

"Yes," Bee murmured, watching him. He was not normally loquacious and somehow this had robbed him of any words he might have said. Several thousand possibilities were turning around thoughtfully in his processors but none seemed to be just right. If Sam were an Autobot, words would have been unnecessary. He would have known everything that couldn't be expressed in so poor a fashion, he would have known...and Bumblebee wouldn't have just received a signal for imminent power failure.

"Sam...I can't...stay...power..." His voice receptors dissolved into static, and his vision was dimming. If he'd had the power supply left, he would have cursed with frustration. This was not what was supposed to happen in a post-coital situation with a human.

"It's okay, go, go." Sam stretched luxuriously and Bumblebee snatched the video of it as quickly as he could and sent it to his main data processors. Not wanting Sam to simply see the holographic projection vanish into a sparkling dust of dead receptors, Bumblebee could only kiss him quickly and dash out of the room, dissolving it behind a plant near the stairwell where Sam would be unlikely to see it. His own permanent sensors surged back online and he was abruptly back in himself, his car form scanning instantly for any signs of danger. Ratchet was still parked next to him and Bumblebee stifled a groan.

"We should depart soon. Is he coming?" Ratchet said, no indication that he'd been scanning them.

"Yes," Bumblebee said hesitantly. "Ratchet-"

"Not now, we need to get going," Ratchet said bluntly. "We will be discussing this later."

"Yes, sir."

A loud sigh. "Never take care of yourself," Ratchet said with some wry amusement and it made Bee relax, just a little. His sensors indicated the Sam was coming out of the house and he did, a backpack slung over his shoulder and walking markedly slowly. Bumblebee started scanning him immediately, terrified he'd done him some injury. He startled when the diagnostic program shut down on its own.

-He's fine—Ratchet sent to him over the wifi. Of course, Ratchet was the only Autobot who had access to the other's system files. –Now conserve what is left of your energy, we have some traveling to do.—

—I was only...— Defensive, Ratchet called him that before, but he couldn't seem to help it when it concerned Sam.

-I know you were 'only'—Amused, -But the boy is fine, despite your enthusiasm. Let him be.—

-You..!—

-I- Ratchet sent deliberately, -Have nothing wrong with my hearing sensors. And you were both very loud.-

"We ready to get out of here?" Sam said brightly. His nervous glance at Ratchet was not unnoticed but he said nothing, only climbing into the seat when Bumblebee opened the door. His glance at his home was not unnoticed either.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Bumblebee began. He knew what it was like to have to abandon one's home.

"It's all right. Besides, we've got places to be, right?" Strong, yes. So strong and emotion that Bumblebee was loath to identify rose in him. He set it aside in a little-used processing unit for the moment, concentrating on the now instead.

"Yes, we do." Ratchet pulled out in front him them, leaving Bumblebee and Sam to follow as they headed out to meet the other Autobots. And anything else that they might encounter.

-finis-


	3. Experiments in Human Nature

Title: Experiments in Human Nature  
by Keelywolfe  
Bumblebee/Sam  


Summary: A continuation of the 'human' series, which are in order:

Forms of Life  
Too Human

* * *

As far as road trips went, this was easily the weirdest one Sam had been on. Okay, so it wasn't precisely a road trip since trip implied that he'd eventually be returning home and since home was probably going to be overrun by pissed off Decepticons, it wasn't exactly high on his list of places to be right now. 

They'd left his house in the early afternoon, trailing behind Ratchet like an ambulance chaser. Optimus had met up with them just outside of the city, along with two other Autobots that Sam had yet to meet, twin Dodge Vipers that differed only in color. It had startled him a little to see them; he'd known that other Autobots had arrived on Earth in the past few months but he hadn't had a chance to meet any of them yet. It seemed like introductions would be waiting a little longer because they never even stopped, only moved into a something like the weirdest caravan ever.

Bumblebee had been silent for most of the trip, occasionally inquiring into Sam's comfort with regards to food or bathroom breaks, all of which he anticipated so uncannily that it was starting to creep Sam out a little. It was one thing to know when he was getting hungry but he didn't know if he liked the idea of Bee keeping track of every time he needed to take a piss.

The light outside was starting to dim and Sam was nearly asleep, drowsing with the humming motion of the car before it changed, tires crunching on something rougher than asphalt. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking as they drove past an enormous chain link fence. He was startled to see men in uniform sitting in a small, windowed building, waving them past the gate.

"What's with the uniforms?" Sam asked, uneasily. His voice was rusty with sleep and he cleared his throat, wishing for something to drink.

"There is still bottled water in the backseat," Bumblebee said, and that creep out factor edged up a little more. "And if by uniforms you mean the guards, they are there to keep any other humans out."

"Is that what the fence is for, too?" Sam asked, feeling unreasonable angry at his own people. They'd given the Autobots a home but what kind of home was it?

"Do you really think a simple fence would hold us in?"

Okay, he couldn't argue with that. From their position behind Optimus, Sam couldn't exactly get a good view but he could see enough to know there were lights coming in from out of the darkness ahead. The dirt road wound its way over a hill, another, and then when he saw what was looming in front of them, Sam couldn't hold back a gasp.

It was incredible. Tall, gleaming towers of metal and the enormous saucers of satellite dishes dotted the landscape in an area the size of a city. He could see other vehicles moving in the distance as well as robots, Autobots that had arrived while he had been busy with graduating from high school. So many of them, interspersed with the occasional human, all working intently on the strange metropolis before them.

"The city of tomorrow," Sam murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, a little louder. "So this is what you guys have been up to?"

"Yes. Of course, it isn't comparable to Cybertron but..."

"I'm sure that not much would be," Sam finished. He couldn't stop staring as they drove past towers that were as tall as skyscrapers, Autobots that he didn't know waving at them and soldiers stopping in their tracks to salute.

What the hell had he gotten himself into here?

Optimus finally came to a stop outside a low slung building, human sized doors visible in the side. Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and the Autobots resumed their robot form, all of them standing in a semi-circle around him except Bumblebee who stayed on the ground, sitting behind him.

"Sam Witwicky," Optimus said, his voice modulator low and grave. "Welcome to Autobot City."

"Imaginative name," Sam murmured and Bumblebee's low chuckle told him he'd been heard.

"We cannot give your human home back to you," Optimus continued, "But we Autobots owe you a great debt, as does your own kind. We will do for you what we can."

The Autobot that had been a yellow Viper said something that Sam didn't understand, laughing in a way that sounded like a cross between static and a wookie growl. Whatever it was, Sam guessed it hadn't been a welcoming speech because the red Viper Autobot slapped him so hard on the back of the head that his optics flickered. An argument started between them in that staticky language until Optimus swung around to look at them and they fell abruptly silent.

"That's Sunstreaker and his twin brother, Sideswipe," Bee murmured, "I'll introduce you to Sideswipe later." There was a very light touch on Sam's back, a single robotic finger resting against him.

"Thank you," Sam called up to Optimus. "So, what's with all the soldiers hanging around here?"

"We understand our place in your world, Sam," Optimus said, his deep voice calm and sad. "It was not our intention to bring danger to your kind and yet we have. We do not begrudge your government their place here. They have treated us with great respect and we are working at integrating our technologies." There was pride in his voice.

"And if their own kind is here with us, they are less likely to blow us all up," Sunstreaker muttered and Sam's instant dislike of him went up another notch.

"We can discuss all of this later," Optimus said, his tone sharp and Sunstreaker stepped back, his expression sullen to Sam's eyes. "These will be your temporary quarters, Sam, until we can make you something more suitable. I'm sure you'd like some rest after your long trip."

A gesture and all of the Autobots but Bumblebee fell back, moving on into the city. Ratchet gave Bumblebee an odd look before he transformed and drove off, leaving them alone. When Sam turned to face him, Bumblebee gave him what passed for his smile, the expression on his robotic face oddly comforting.

Sam hitched his backpack over his shoulder. He was pretty tired, but there were a few things he needed to know first. "So if I'm staying here, where do you go?"

"For now, I'll be parked right here. Optimus is the in process of creating quarters that will accommodate us both. I can hardly be an effective guardian if I am housed half a city away from you."

"Right." Sure, that's the only reason Bee wanted to be close. The unfamiliar soreness the Sam felt every time he sat down had nothing to do with it, he was sure. One more thing, though, for tonight, then bed. Hopefully to sleep. "What did Sunstreaker say earlier?"

Bumblebee was quiet for so long that Sam didn't think he'd answer, so he stood there stubbornly at the door, waiting. Finally, in a low voice, "He asked if you were the little pet I was spending so much time with."

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, he's pretty much an asshole is what you're saying."

"Yes," Bee agreed, his expression promising some kind of retribution.

"Well, he's taller than the other assholes I've known, but that's about all he has going for him." It wasn't like he hadn't already known his share of them. A yawn surprised him, reminding him that it really had been a long day. "I really am tired, Bee. I'll see you in the morning, all right?"

"Good night, Sam." Another very gentle touch from a finger that was as large as one of his arms and the Bumblebee stepped back to transform, his car form settling itself in front of the building for the night.

Sam pushed open the surprisingly heavy door to his new, temporary home and had his first look at it. It was bigger than his bedroom at home...at the house, he corrected himself. But barren, only a bed and a desk to occupy the room leaving swathes of empty space. It would be all right, he told himself, tossing his backpack in a corner and toeing off his shoes. The feds would have all of his things here soon enough and Bumblebee was right outside. It would all be just fine. He lay down on the unfamiliar bed that smelled of a strange detergent and fell asleep almost instantly.

_

* * *

_

* * *

_It was the hands that he loved. Large, warm hands that touched him, cupped him in places where only a pathetically small amount of people had touched, one being himself and one...not exactly being a person. Sam couldn't care about it even a tiny bit at the moment, dark, wet heat surrounding his cock and he pushed up into it, again and again, whimpering with the pure bliss of it and he wanted it to never end, never, never, never..._

"Hurmp?" Sam mumbled, blinking a little in the dimness, already half deciding whether to just find an old t-shirt to clean off with or to go for broke and just change the sheets, and Christ, what a dream that was, way past wet dream and on its way to soaking and...

"You really can sleep through anything."

Later, Sam would be grateful that his room had excellent soundproofing so that all the soldier boys didn't get treated to the sound of him shrieking like a girl. At this particular moment though, he was pretty much concentrating on not letting his heart come shooting straight out of his chest. Bumblebee's hologram was crouching over him, his hands on either side of Sam's hips. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark room, like a cat's.

"Jesus, do you have to scare me every time you come into my room?" he blurted out. Realizing he had the blanket clutched over him like a virgin in a thirties movie, he tossed it aside in disgust. And found that he was completely naked, which he was really sure he would have remembered doing before he fell asleep.

"Did you sneak into my room and strip me?" Sam asked, disbelieving. This was several levels higher in weird than he really thought he could deal with at ass o'clock in the morning after his entire reality had changed.

"No, Ironhide did it. He's shown a great deal of curiosity in the human form lately and I was sure you wouldn't mind." He said it so blandly, not even blinking, that for one speechless moment Sam very nearly believed him. His heart made a renewed attempt at vacating his chest cavity and then Bee grinned at him, slithering up the bed in a move entirely too graceful for an actual human and settling himself so he was nose to nose with Sam.

"You're very gullible when you are sleepy," Bee told him, kissing the tip of his nose.

"You...you're...I can't think like this," Sam wailed, squirming as Bee nuzzled gently as his neck. The faint abrasiveness of beard stubble rubbed lightly against his cheek and he startled to realize that Bumblebee must have added that to his hologram. Christ, he was dedicated to the illusion and, oh, dear God, he had to be cheating too because the things he was doing to Sam's ear with his tongue just had to be a physical impossibility for a real human tongue.

"Beautiful." Breathed against his ear and it made him blush, made him squirm more as Bee settled more of his weight on top of him, holding Sam down.

"What are you doing to me," Sam groaned.

The soft laughter was hardly more than a puff of air. "I would have thought that would be self-evident."

"Yes..." Sam agreed mindlessly and he was almost lost in it, almost ready to just lay back and take every tiny thing Bumblebee would give him greedily but his brain chose that moment to finally snap awake and Sam sat up so hard that he hit his head on Bumblebee's nose.

"Ow!!" A mutual exclamation of pain and irritation came between them, with each of them rubbing the offended portion of their anatomy.

"What was that for?" Bumblebee complained, the sound muffled as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

"What do you think you're doing in here?!" Sam hissed, scrubbing viciously at his own pained head. "We're on a base filled with military personnel!"

"I fail to see how this is any concern of theirs," Bee sniffed. "If they want to have sex, they will need to do it in their own quarters."

"I'm sure they would, but not with each other! The military tends to frown on guys having sex with other guys, get it?"

From Bumblebee's grouchy expression, he was guessing not. "I am not a 'guy'. I'm an Autobot."

"I'm pretty sure that in this state you qualify as a guy, okay? Just..." Sam blinked, considering. "Why do you look like that, anyway? If it's a solid hologram thingie," Sam flapped a hand in a 'whatever it is' sort of way in Bee's direction. "Couldn't it be anything you wanted?"

"Yes." Bumblebee didn't look particularly happy about sharing that information, which mystified Sam. "Would you prefer something like this?" The light around Bee wavered in that weird Star Trekking way and instead there was a woman straddling his thighs, her blonde hair long enough to tickle Sam's hips and the soft swell of her breasts visible over the low neck of her tank top. She was gorgeous, no question of that, but Sam felt a little uncomfortable looking at her, her green eyes watching him silently.

"Or perhaps this?" Again, that shimmer of light and this time it was dark hair and eyes, a wealth of gorgeous, deeply tanned skin available for touching as she hovered over him in shorts so tiny they were practically panties and her breasts pushing gently against his chest as she leaned down to kiss him.

Sam flinched, barely aware of doing so. "Turn back. Please, just...come back."

A flicker and it was the Bee that Sam had come to know the past few days, tousled blond hair and soft green eyes but unmistakably masculine. He slipped off of Sam to sit on the side of the bed, pulling his denim-clad knees up to his chin. "I could be anything you want me to be, Sam."

Once upon a time, Sam might have imagined he wanted to hear someone say those words and that having a sexual magic genie would have been his every wet dream come true. Now he felt just a little sick, looking into Bumblebee's oddly forlorn eyes.

"What about what you want?"

Bumblebee blinked. "What do you mean?"

Sam was beginning to understand the old cliché about tearing your hair out because he was about to get a double handful of his own. "What about you? When do you get what you want?"

"I want you, Sam." Simply, quietly.

"And if you could be anything, why choose this?"

He looked down at himself, patting his chest lightly. "Because this would be my equivalent if I was human."

"Equivalent...you mean, if you were human this is how you would look?"

"Yes, of course. Why else would appear like this?" Bumblebee asked, amused.

"But--" Sam stared. "You're my age."

"Of course. This would be my perceived age if I were human."

"You're a _teenager_??"

"Not as you define years, no, being that I am over a thousand human years old. But my perceived age amongst the Autobots would be similar to yours." He grinned, eyes shining with humor. "Compare it to how humans consider 'dog years'."

"But..." He couldn't seem to get over the shock. "How can you be seen as a teenager, you have so much information, you just..." Words were failing him. Bumblebee was the Autobot version of a teenager...it was too bizarre to accept so easily. He'd just been getting used to the fact that he was attracted to older robots and now Bumblebee was rewriting the script on him.

"Sam, you could memorize a library if you truly wished, but it wouldn't change your life experience." He looked concerned. "You seem very surprised. I thought you realized."

"Of course I didn't...I mean, you're a giant robot! How am I supposed to know how old you're supposed to be, it's not like you came with an instruction manual!"

"If I had, you wouldn't have been able to read it, anyway."

"So you're a teenager. And a guy."

Bumblebee hesitated, considering. "That is more difficult. We did not have any conception of gender before we encountered other species who did."

"Yeah, I guess you guys aren't really up to making baby robots."

Amused. "Not like you'd think of it, no. I'm quite sure that we'll be happy to continue avoiding pregnancy. There were a few Autobots who identified as female, but I haven't seen any of them in some time. Most identified with the male gender and when it is necessary, that is the gender we assume. "

"Some of them decided to be girls. But not you."

"Do I seem female to you?"

Sam snorted. "No."

"As fascinating as this conversation is," Bumblebee said, leaning forward on his hands to crawl over Sam again, "I would hate to deprive you of your sleep for any longer than necessary."

Sam snorted, half-tempted to push Bumblebee off the bed and into his holographic ass. And might have if his mouth hadn't been doing obscene things to his ear again. "Is that the Cybertronian way of saying put out and shut up?" Sam muttered, still not quite sure about doing this on a place with dozens of guys with military uniforms and large guns milling around.

"Yes," Bumblebee whispered into his ear. "But I believe that the reciprocation of pleasure received is a human trait."

"What?"

"One of us hasn't had an orgasm tonight, and it isn't you." Impatient humor in his voice and Sam realized that Bumblebee was rubbing his cock against Sam's thigh. His very hard, very insistent cock which had probably been that way during the entire Sam's Inquisition.

"Oh, I..." Sam very nearly apologized, even though he hadn't exactly invited Bumblebee over for a late night handjob. But then exactly what had he been expecting? He'd been the one who kissed Bumblebee first; he had been the one who hadn't protested when Bumblebee had more or less seduced him in his own bedroom. He was sleeping with someone who got their human etiquette from the internet, for pity's sake. It stood to reason that he'd believe a little sex would be an invitation for more.

_I want you, Sam._

Bumblebee's softly spoken words echoed in the back of his thoughts, even as he turned his head into Bumblebee's kisses, biting, teasing little touches that made his one-orgasm-ahead body twitch in the best ways. He pushed his thoughts aside, way too deep and confusing for being in the midst of sex with a decided lack of sleep. Instead, he found the hem of Bumblebee's t-shirt and pulled it over his head, running his hands down the newly exposed skin. He barely notice that the shirt ceased to exist the moment it stopped touching Bumblebee's body, dimly amused at his own easy acceptance of the weirdness of interspecies sex.

"God, I want you," Sam murmured against Bee's neck and a soft moan seemed to echo the sentiment. Even knowing the skin beneath his hands wasn't entirely real didn't matter. It was all strange and new, and not just because he was making out with a sort-of guy. The taste of Bumblebee's skin wasn't anything that he expected with a human, no faint taste of salt to his sweat and his scent was only clean and sweet, even lower when Sam squirmed past Bee's protesting hands to lick at his navel, nosing at the fly to Bumblebee's jeans.

"Sam, you don't--"

"I know," Sam whispered, blowing softly on the light dusting of hair that trailed beneath the denim. He felt Bumblebee shudder, the tiny tremors in his thighs and Sam undid his pants and pushed them down, and geez, was this really the first time he'd really seen Bumblebee naked? A few glances here and there hardly seemed a good comparison to what he was seeing now. Even with his pants tangled around his ankles, he looked...enticing, Sam decided. His cock was hard and laying against his belly, flushed with color and when Sam touched it lightly, he felt aching heat radiating from it. Wherever Bee had gotten his information on the human form, he'd followed it perfectly.

"You make a really good human, you know that?"

A short bark of laughter, almost pained. "I had an excellent model." As if to make a point, he reached out with one hand and managed to run a finger lightly down Sam's chest.

Sam considered that, warm heat flushing his cheeks. Well, of course he should have figured that Bumblebee had taken information from him. It wasn't like he could find the Wiki page on how to build your own human in ten steps or less.

"Sam, please," Bumblebee whimpered, his hips arching up and Sam realized he'd been petting Bee's cock almost absently as he looked, fingertips tracing nonsensical little symbols on the, oh, so soft skin. It was an unintentional tease and he wrapped his hand around it and squeezed gently in apology. Bumblebee gasped, his eyes slipping shut. For all that he was obviously a guy, he really was way too pretty. Full lips parted and damp, and blond hair falling into his eyes.

And okay, he hadn't exactly done this at summer camp and he didn't have libraries of information stored in his head but other people managed to figure it out just fine. He watched Bumblebee's face tightened in anticipation when he leaned down and just touched his tongue to the tip, let it rest there on too-soft, too-hot skin and listened to Bumblebee short, harsh gasps. Easy to please, easy to seduce. His car was a slut, Sam decided with a silent laugh. Probably better not to share that little piece of information.

It wasn't so difficult to suck at it, thick pressure in his mouth and one of Bumblebee's hands cupping the back of his neck. Trembling fingers sifting through his hair and knees rose on either side of his head, encouraging him. Oh, yeah, definitely encouraging him, nudging him into taking a little more, a mess of denim still tangled around his ankles like Bumblebee hadn't been able to manage enough concentration to just get rid of them. How flattering was that, Sam wondered, trying to concentrate on sucking harder swirling his tongue around the tip just to hear Bumblebee make that sweet little choked sound again. Teenager or not, Bee was still a being who stood as tall as a house and had guns built into his arms. And all it took was a little cocksucking to turn him into a shaking, whimpering mess.

"Ah…Sam…stop, stop, please…ah!"

Which was a good indication that Bumblebee wanted him to stop for some reason and Sam promptly ignored him because he wasn't the one who'd come creeping into someone else's bedroom in the middle of the night and complained about a lack of orgasms, was he? He wrapped his arms around Bumblebee's hips and held on, refusing to let go even as Bee's desperate pleas got a little louder, his hands frantic in Sam's hair and he sucked as hard as he could, taking Bee's cock deep enough that he nearly gagged and the sound Bee made could never be mistaken as human.

No semen, no nice clear little signal that yes, sir, orgasm has been achieved. His abrupt stillness was a pretty close second though and it was nice to actually be able to breathe this time as he watched Bee power back up.

It took longer than normal for those green eyes to open and when they did, they promptly glared at Sam. He tried for an innocent look. Okay, as innocent as you could have while you were naked in bed with an alien robot hologram.

"You," Bee told him, "are a brat."

"Which one of us was protesting about unequal orgasms?"

Bee rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, that was all in the interest of equality. I was trying not to power down. Brat."

Sam felt instantly guilty. "I'm sorry, did I hurt—"

A warm mouth cut him off, Bee whispering against him, "You could never hurt me."

Okay, that was a statement that could use some exploring but it was difficult to concentrate with Bee pushing him gently down onto the bed, soothing him with forgetting kisses and touches. Tomorrow, there were going to be conversations, Sam decided sleepily. Long, rough conversations and they were going to figure this out.

Tomorrow.

* * *

Tired as he had been, Sam hadn't forgotten his mental promise of the night before to finally have a long conversation with Bee about this…thing they had going. But it was going to have to come later in the morning because there was no way he was going to interrupt the new and interesting sight of Bumblebee swearing loudly and creatively in a variety of languages, many of what Sam was pretty sure didn't come from this planet.

"God damned goat-arsed, horse-fucking piece of fucking trash," Bee muttered, switching to words that Sam could understand for the moment.

Sam propped his chin on a hand, watching the only part of Bumblebee's body that was visible from beneath his desk. Namely his ass. "So you can travel through space for thousands of years, reformat yourself as a car and a human, but you can't set up a wireless network?"

That earned him a particularly ugly curse, and one green eye glared out from under the desk. "I can," he said scathingly. "If I could accomplish anything with these..." He shook his hands in frustration. "How do you people do anything with these hands?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sorry, not all of us get to be super advanced living robots."

"And yet, you still call it living," Bee muttered, slipping back under the desk. He rolled over to lie on his back instead and Sam took a moment to appreciate the new view. His shirt rode up just enough for Sam to see the pale line of skin at his belly. He wasn't sure where Bumblebee had gotten his specs or whatever for making a human body, but he'd only given himself a slight amount of body hair and Sam could only barely make out the soft line of it on his belly. It made him want to touch it and all the swearing in the world paled in comparison.

As quietly as he could, Sam slipped off the bed and moved to stand over Bee's spread legs before he sank down into Bumblebee's lap and wriggled his backside firmly against Bee's crotch. Felt him startle violently and the entire desk shook as Bee cracked his head on it, another burst of truly inspiring profanity spouting forth.

Okay, it was sort of mean the way he had to try to keep from laughing, it really was. Sam squeezed a hand underneath the desk to help rub the wounded area. "Sorry, sorry." Bumblebee didn't say anything and Sam thought he should count himself lucky. Instead, he pressed a kiss into Sam's hand before letting it go but he made no move to push Sam off his lap, instead squirming out to examine some kind of electronic gizmo.

"Why do you feel pain, anyway?"

"Because I am mimicking a human," Bee said, almost absently, pushing a couple buttons. "And humans feel pain."

"But why would _you_ want to?"

"I can't pick and choose what part of a human that I wish to mimic. I can't be half a human any more that I can be half a car." He spared Sam a glance. "I can enhance some sensations or decrease them to an extent, but I can't eliminate them."

That didn't seem to make any sense that Sam could figure. If it was like running a computer program, why couldn't he modify it? "I guess I just don't understand how you're doing it. I mean, why _can't_ you pick and choose what you want to be? You pick your clothes and your hair, right?"

"Yes, but I don't have the option of adding gills or a tail," Bumblebee said, exasperated. "Clothes and hair are human attributes."

"But..."

"If I changed it, it wouldn't be real. I can only mimic reality."

"You can't imagine?"

A soft sigh. "Let me rephrase then. I could possibly create a resemblance of a human who did not feel pain and who had gills and a tail, if I so chose. But I won't."

"Why?" Sam felt a little like a petulant five year old but he couldn't seem to let it go.

"I told you. It wouldn't be real. Why would I want to experience the sensations of a being that didn't exist?"

"I...don't know. To try something new, I guess."

"Humans are new enough to me," Bumblebee said decisively. "And I want to feel as you do, Sam."

"Oh," Sam said, weakly. "Does it bother you? To spend so much time acting like a human?"

"You're very inquisitive today." The terseness in his voice made Sam cringe a little inwardly. Bumblebee sighed, the gizmo in his hand tossed aside as he wriggled completely out from under the desk to look at Sam frankly. "No, it doesn't bother me," he said clearly. "Why would it?"

"Well, you're...here, sort of. But your body is out there, just...sitting."

"My body also happens to be right here under you, Sam. My senses are attuned with this form and therefore, I am _right here_," he stressed.

"But--"

"I used to spend some ten hours at a time alone in my car form before, Sam. Why would it bother me to spend more time with you, whether as a car, a robot, or an extended sensor array?"

"A sensor--"

"A hologram, as you call it."

The reminder of just how much time he'd spent parked in car form in Sam's driveway sent a new wave of guilt

"God, I'm sorry. You must have been so bored sitting there."

"Not really. There was plenty to keep me busy. I was scanning the area in a hundred mile radius for Decepticons, searching for any indication of Autobot activity within this sector, and I have three level seventy characters on World of Warcraft."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. My guild is probably wondering where I've been the past few days." He shrugged a little and scooted back under the desk, seeming oblivious to the fact that Sam was still in his lap. "I may have also possibly accessed a few websites on human sexual relations," he added blandly.

Totally confirming the slut angle. "So, are you going to be much longer? Because not all of us have internal power supplies, see, and—"

He nearly fell off Bumblebee twisted out abruptly, catching Sam's hips to keep him from falling backwards. "Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?"

"It's not that big a deal—"

"I stopped monitoring your basic systems to save on power," Bee said. He sounded angry with himself. "I thought you'd be safe enough within Autobot city that constant monitoring would be unnecessary. I should have rerouted it through my—"

"It's not that big a deal!" Sam repeated, loudly. Bumblebee didn't look reassured. "Oh, come on, I know you take this guardian stuff seriously but a late breakfast isn't a reason to throw yourself on a sword, okay? Okay?" He nudged him when Bee didn't respond. "Say it's okay."

"Okay," Bee agreed, grudgingly. He leaned up on his hands, close enough to Sam's face to kiss him. It was just a sweet, soft touch of lips but Sam melted into it almost helplessly. He was getting way too used to this way, way too fast. He murmured a protest when Bee pulled away that immediately turned into a yelp when he found himself pushed off Bee's lap and onto the floor.

"Come on. Let's get you something to eat before your blood sugar gets too low."

"My hero," Sam muttered. But he took the hand Bumblebee offered and followed him out the door.

The amount of military personal increased the further they walked, heading towards the human barracks where Bumblebee assured him food would be found. It made him feel more than a little awkward and he couldn't quite figure out how far to stand from Bumblebee. Not far enough away to inspire Bee to pull him closer but not close enough that they were a walking advertisement for interstellar gay sex. It was not a decision he'd exactly had to make before.

The uniforms made him feel weird, too, in his t-shirt and jeans and scruffy shoes. It was like showing up at prom in his underwear. "I think I'm seriously underdressed," he whispered to Bee after another perfectly ironed uniform walked past them. It didn't help that everyone was saluting them as they walked past, either. He guessed they must know that the other scruffy teenager was actually one of the Autobots.

Bee glanced at Sam's clothes and back down at his own, considering. "Over here," he said, pulling Sam down a corridor and into a storage room of some sort, boxes with strange labels piled around them.

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed, half afraid that Bee was crazy enough to go for an Autobot version of a quickie. But Bee only stood in front of him, his hands clasped loosely around Sam's arms and his eyes closed. Then, he felt it, a strange, shivery touch moving down his body.

"What are—" Sam blinked down at himself, his clothes rearranging themselves into something entirely new. Dark pants and boots, and a high collar shirt. Not a military uniform in the least but a lot more posh, in fact it was sort of like a dress uniform from…"Star Trek?"

Bee opened his eyes, his own clothes matching Sam's. He smiled brightly. "I like Star Trek. I changed the color scheme so you would feel less self-conscious."

"Thanks." I think. "How did you do this?" He ran a hand down his chest and blinked, startled. It still felt like a t-shirt and jeans.

"It's a true hologram," Bee answered his unspoken question. "I don't have enough reserve power to maintain anything else, but no one else should know the difference."

"So, you put your receptors…on me?"

"A few," he admitted, his expression anxious.

"And they're touching me?"

"I can't feel them," Bee assured him hastily. Like he was afraid Sam thought he was just some alien pervert. Well, he already knew that.

"So it's like you're holding me."

"I…yes. It is," Bee agreed softly, concern melting away.

"Cool." He sounded a little hoarse and Sam cleared his throat a little, moving back out of the storage room before that whole quickie idea started sounding better. "Food, remember?"

"Of course." Bumblebee took the lead again and Sam followed, trying to remember the way so that next time Bee wouldn't have to play tour guide. If he was going to stay here, he was going to have to figure out the layout pretty quickly. But a few signs on the sterile, bare walls sure as heck wouldn't be amiss.

Speaking of signs, a small hand-lettered one over one door declared it to be the canteen. It was mostly empty, with only a few men and one woman in uniforms eating from trays. Sam found one of his own and started loading it up from a long table filled with food that he hoped tasted as good as it smelled. Bee just watched him, arms crossed over his chest as he studied the room. His expression changed and Sam turned to see an older man with dark hair and eyes approaching him, his uniform similar to theirs but with a red crosses sewn onto the sleeves.

"Bumblebee, I've been trying to contact you," he said, his voice both stern and familiar.

"Ratchet?"

He spared a nod at Sam. "It's good to see you, Sam. I hope you're settling in well." He turned his attention back to Bumblebee, who did not look happy. "Bumblebee, a word? Now."

"Sam, why don't you go eat?" Bumblebee didn't look at him.

"Sure." He watched them for a moment longer as Ratchet led Bumblebee over to an empty corner before hefting his tray over to one of the tables. Two more soldiers saluted him on the way and he settled for smiling feebly, hoping his full hands spoke for themselves. With this uniform on, they must think he was one of the Autobots.

The food did taste wonderful, much better than old MASH reruns had led him to believe. He had most of his eggs and two bites of sausage gone before he glanced in Bee's direction again, his appetite shrinking as he watched them.

They were arguing about something, that much he knew. Bumblebee's hands flying in angry gestures while Ratchet stood implacably in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. He had a bad idea that he knew what or rather, who, they were arguing about. He picked at his hash browns and tried not to watch as Ratchet seemed unimpressed by Bumblebee's passionate argument until Bee finally held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and stalked away, his expression stormy.

Sam focused resolutely on his breakfast and didn't look up as Bumblebee flung himself into the seat across from him.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked quietly, unable to keep silent. What did he even know about the Autobots rules concerning sex with…humans? Civilians? Whatever they considered him to be. If Bumblebee was in trouble because of him...

"It's nothing," Bee said shortly, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared resolutely across the room.

"But—"

"I said it's nothing," he snapped and Sam fell silent, his hash browns little more than a crumbled mess. A soft sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you, Sam. Ratchet just has a tendency to worry himself with things that are none of his concern."

"If you're in trouble because of me…"

"I'm not." Instantly. "I promise you, it's nothing like that. And even if it were, my personal relations are no one's business but my own." He reached out and almost settled his hand over Sam's, hesitated at the last second and glanced around the room. Probably remembering what Sam had said about the military not going for that guy on guy action and he reluctantly settled for patting Sam's arm. "Perhaps not as much our own business as we would prefer. It will be all right, Sam."

He managed a smile. "Yeah." And he was going to keep telling himself that until it was true. Two more military guys walked past them, snapping sharp salutes on their way and Sam couldn't help wrinkling his nose a little. "Are they going keep doing that whenever I'm with you guys?"

"You think they are saluting me?" Bumblebee sounded amused. "Sam, you are the savior of your world. Part of the agreement for you staying here included you having an honorary status amongst your soldiers to reflect that."

"They're saluting me?" If he'd been less shocked, he'd have been embarrassed at the high squeak in his voice.

"Optimus insisted."

"Oh, man," Sam muttered, burying his face in his arms. The bare feel of them reminded him that his clothes weren't even real. "I so need some new clothes."

"If I can get the network hooked up in your room, you can order anything you like," Bee assured him. "Once I get it set up properly, we will make arrangement for you to contact your parents."

Sam winced at the thought of his parents, sharp guilt rising in his throat. He hadn't even thought about them today. God, they were probably out of their minds with worry. "Yeah, let's get that done." He scooped up his tray and tossed the remains of his breakfast in the trash. A half dozen more salutes later and they were on their way back to Sam's quarters.

At least he'd survived his first morning. Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know what the afternoon held for him.

Not that he'd have much choice.

A light touch on his shoulder reminded him that whatever happened, he wasn't on his own. He gave Bumblebee a smile and grabbed his hand long enough to squeeze it. Screw the solder boys.

"C'mon, I have a phone call to make," Sam sighed, tugging Bumblebee along with him.

"Whatever you need, Sam," Bee said, simply and for the first time, Sam was really starting to believe him.

-finis-


	4. Public Education

Title: Public Education  
by Keelywolfe  
Bumblebee/Sam 

Summary: This is a little snippet that relates directly to Experiments In Human Nature. What were Ratchet and Bumblebee arguing about? Read it and find out!

* * *

It only seemed appropriate that a conversation that he didn't want to have was about to take place in front of half a dozen people that he didn't want to see it. Especially Sam. Bee dared a glance behind him to see that Sam had seated himself and was eating, pointedly not looking their way. If Ratchet hadn't been right in front of him, Bumblebee would have run a diagnostic to check his blood sugar levels but then, if Ratchet hadn't been here Bee could be sitting with him making sure he ate sufficient quantities.

At least the corner that Ratchet chose was sufficiently distant. He swung around, displeasure evident on his unfamiliar human face. "All right, Bumblebee, enough is enough. I'm scheduling you for training in simulated mating."

Oh, no. No, no, no. Bumblebee frowned and snapped out, "I am not going in for training on how to have sex!"

"You can and you will. What you can't do is continue on this way. You're going to damage yourself."

"I am not!"

"Or you are going to burn out your holographic relay and then I will be the one having to replace it while I listen to the two of you whine about how long it will take," Ratchet said, his tone as cool and calm as it always was. It must be some part of the programming in a medical officer. "You aren't the only one affected by this, you know. I'm the one who gets a warning signal about an Autobot going into involuntary stasis and then I have to check it out, only to find that it's you. Again. As fascinating as human sexuality is, I'm getting rather tired of being a third party in your experiments in it!"

"I just need--"

"You need training and you're going to get it. I believe Sunstreaker has sufficient experience in this area."

There weren't words to express his horror at the very concept. "No, absolutely not."

Ratchet huffed impatiently. "Oh, for pity's sake, it's training! If you can't set aside your differences for an hour of training..."

"Ratchet, I swear, I would power myself down and sent my shell into the sun before I would let Sunstreaker train me in anything!" Much less sex. Bumblebee could barely hold back a shudder of revulsion at the thought of anything belonging to Sunstreaker touching him in the way Sam did.

"Fine. Sideswipe has some experience in this as well. I'll discuss it with him and set up a time in the next day--"

"Ratchet, please. Let me try one more time," Bee pleaded. He glanced at Sam, who hurriedly looked away, focusing back on his food. Sam with dark hair and eyes, and a sharp smile. A gentle touch. Sam who was brave and strong beyond anything he had ever expected to see in an organic species. "I don't want to be with anyone else."

"That's a human way of thinking," Ratchet said cryptically. Bumblebee didn't answer, only pleaded silently with him in that very same human way. "Fine, fine. You may have _one_," he stressed, "And I mean one more opportunity to get this figured out on your own. But if I am pulled from my rest state again because you can't control your receptors, you are undergoing training. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Bumblebee held up his hands in surrender.

"I won't approach Sideswipe today, but if the training becomes necessary and he is unwilling, then I shall do it myself."

"Ratchet!" Bumblebee exclaimed, scandalized. Sunstreaker was one thing, but Ratchet…Ratchet was old!

"Don't dwell on it. If you manage it on your own then this will all be unnecessary." Ratchet gave him a nod. "Now go back to him. He is the human this equation, perhaps he has a suggestion."

Bumblebee didn't answer, turning away and making his way slowly to the table that Sam had chosen. If he didn't want to have this conversation with Ratchet, then he certainly did want to have it with Sam. Ever. He wasn't sure if he could explain it in a way that a human could understand.

He'd certainly had training before and the while the idea of engaging another Autobot in a human sexual fashion didn't appeal to him, it was something he would reluctantly undertake if it allowed him to remain with Sam.

But Ratchet didn't seem inclined to acknowledge that there was another human trait that had websites, sitcoms, and hundreds of marriage counselors dedicated to it.

Humans didn't like to share.

Sam looked up at him when he sat down, perhaps a bit too hard, across from him. His eyes were dark with concerns that Bumblebee had no desire to address, most of his processors focused on a single issue. He had one opportunity to figure out how to do this properly.

It was a shame he had no idea how to begin.

-finis-


	5. Kneejerk Reaction

Knee-Jerk Reaction  
by Keelywolfe

* * *

Sam should have been disappointed that he wasn't destined to make that phone call to his parents on the first day. Bumblebee had made a good effort but for some reason, the wireless network refused to cooperate. All that came from it was another expansion in the more vulgar portion of Sam's vocabulary.

He should have been disappointed and the fact that he wasn't was only another layer of guilt. On his third morning in Autobot City, Sam rolled over in bed with a sigh and tried to convince himself that today he needed to make that call.

That was, if he even saw Bumblebee today. Ever since that first night, Bee had only been around for snippets of time, turning up for a quick kiss or touch that tingled through him and before he took off again with another excuse. Optimus needed him, Ironhide, Ratchet, a veritable reunion of Autobots to whom Bumblebee was their only hope.

"And yet, no one offers a hand to the human with blue balls," Sam grumbled aloud. His early morning wood was hard enough to act as a door knocker but somehow masturbation had lost some of its appeal.

_We can call it Sam's happy time._

Sam winced and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. Thoughts of his mother were better than a cold shower even without the guilt.

If he didn't know better, he'd say Bee was avoiding him. Did he know better? They'd only been…what. Dating? Doing their sex thing? Knocking boots? Dancing the pelvic fantastic? Whatever it was, they'd only been doing it for about five days. How was it even possible life could have changed so much in so short a time?

Then again, it had only taken three days for the Autobots to turn his life upside down when they'd arrived.

And okay, it wouldn't be that big a deal. Sam was a big boy, right? Only, he was bored out of his skull and the only person he knew well enough to spend time with was working on…whatever the heck he did here. Bee had never mentioned it and Sam hadn't had a chance to ask.

So, no Bumblebee or any other Autobot who he was on a first name basis with. And it wasn't like he would have wanted to bother any of the soldier boys even if he had known them; they were working too. Plus, they all seemed a little ill at ease around him, saluting him and all that. After a fierce internal debate and a much shorter external one with Bee, he'd decided that tossing a quick salute back at them was the appropriate response to that.

That led him straight back to boredom and solitaire on his computer. Not that there weren't probably a hundred more computers on base that had their own wireless network chugging happily along but somehow he and Bee had some unspoken rule between them, that he could only speak to his parents on his own monitor. It was a pretty crappy excuse, that much he could admit, but it was the best one he had going.

It hadn't stopped Sam from using one of the computers in the military Rec center, especially when Bee told him how to access his expense account. Overnight delivery was a thing of wonder, at least where his wardrobe was concerned.

Okay, enough moping, Sam decided, forcing himself to roll out of bed. He rubbed a sleepy hand over his face and snagged some of his shiny new clothes out of the closet before shuffling into the bathroom. A quick piss took care of the rest of his hard on and when he flicked on the shower, Sam went with a hot that was just below scalding, ducking his head under the spray and letting the hot water pound the thoughts out of his head. If he ever found out who had designed his glorious shower, he was going to owe them his first born child, if not his soul.

The soft touch of a hand feathering down his abdomen startled a yelp out of him and he would have slipped and probably broken his head on that same glorious shower if a strong arm hadn't been attached to that hand. Bumblebee hauled him back to his feet and added another arm to the mix, slippery bare skin against his own.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he nuzzled against his neck, his tongue lapping at the rivulets of water. "I always seem to be startling you."

Sam swiped water out of his eyes, coughing a little. "Have you ever even heard of knocking? Christ, I'm going to have a heart attack before I'm twenty."

"Sorry," Bee offered again, his hands slipping lower, dripping fingers slipping between Sam's legs to cup his balls. Okay, there was really no way to stay mad at someone who did that…Sam's head fell back to rest on Bee's shoulder as he tried to stay upright.

"I was afraid of neglecting you," Bee murmured, sucking gently on the lobe of Sam's ear. "I've been wrapped up in my duties these past few days."

"Yeah, sure," Sam said nonsensically. His hands found that Bee's thighs were right beneath them and grabbed onto them instinctively. One of Bee's hands slid up to wrap around his cock, firm and sure, stroking him with soap-slick perfection. Sam hissed as his orgasm throbbed its way up his spine, as sharp and electric as Bee's kisses. He would have sank to the floor if Bumblebee hadn't held him up, standing as easily in the ankle-deep water as he would have on dry land. So unfair, Sam decided, pulling away the moment his wobbly knees decided to hold him and turning to finally catch a glimpse of a warm and wet Bumblebee.

The water had darkened his hair to gold, his lashes spiky as he blinked into the humid air and his skin had taken on a lovely flush from the heat. It was hard to remind himself that Bumblebee created this, perfecting the illusion of humanity even more every time Sam saw him.

"Reciprocation, right?" Sam smiled, almost shyly, letting his hands slide wetly down Bee's chest and lower.

"Wait." To his surprise, Bee caught his hands, stilling them. "I don't have time, I just had a free moment." Apologetically.

"It's all cool," Sam tried not to let his disappointment show.

"I actually came in to let you know that I finally got your network working. If you click the 'home' icon, it will directly connect you to your parents. I believe their line was secured yesterday so they are probably eagerly awaiting your call."

"Sure," Sam said, a little flatly. Well, that was perfect. A frothy slap of guilt on top of his morning cup of sexual cappuccino.

"Tonight," Bee promised and Sam was a little surprised to see the hologram fade away. Bumblebee had never actually done that in front of him before. Weird. Sam wasn't entirely sure he liked seeing it. Not that he didn't know it was a hologram or that if he listened, he could recognize the sound of Bee's engine as he drove off but...just weird.

Sluicing water over his head, Sam finished scrubbing and hastily dried himself. The clothes he had laid out before his shower didn't seem quite right anymore. Much as he liked the clothes Bumblebee had helped him pick out so he'd fit in a little better with the soldiers, his parents were more used to the t-shirt and jeans look. It took way too little a time to get dressed and to comb his hair, and enough with the damned excuses already. He sat down and took a deep breath before he clicked the link. A loading bar popped up, silently informing him that a connection was being made and that it would take a moment. Endless seconds ticked by and then the screen expanded, his parents coming into view.

The first thing he saw was that his mother was crying, her hands clasped in front of her mouth and her cheeks wet. His father stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her and his face tight and still.

Oh, god.

"Mom, Dad," Sam managed, his voice thick. "I—"

"You are going to tell them to bring you to us, right now!" his father shouted, the speakers whining with feedback at the volume. Sam flinched.

"Dad, they told you—"

"Oh, yes, they had a lot to tell us. None of which you thought to mention to us months ago when it happened!"

His mother made a low sound like a sob and his father tightened his arm around her.

"Dad." This was about a hundred times worse than he had been expecting. "I couldn't, the government—"

"The government is not about to take my only son away from me and send him to live with some…some damned alien robots, and for what! They won't even tell us where you are, days go by and they only tell us that you're safe." He spat the word like a curse, his mother's reddened eyes fixed on him from over her clasped hands.

"I am safe, I'm just fine," Sam said it to his mother, desperately wishing he couldn't see the fresh wash of tears stream down her cheeks.

"Your mother and I have been out of our minds. You are coming home, I swear, Sam, this is—"

"I can't," Sam said. His voice cracked and he pushed on desperately. "You won't be safe with me there."

His father stared at him. "And I'm just supposed to accept that? Some guy in a suit and a giant fucking robot tell me I can't see my son anymore and I should be just fine with it. Well, great, your mother and I will take a new driver's licenses and new credit cards and start our brand new lives pretending we never had a son, is that it?"

"It's not forever," Sam said desperately, fully aware that he might be lying. "I'll come see you as soon as I can." Yeah, as soon as Decepticons weren't planning on disemboweling him and hanging him to rot.

"You are coming home; they are not taking my child away from me."

"I'm eighteen, Dad." Hardly more than a whisper.

"Yeah?" He had never heard so much bitterness is his father's voice. "So you're an adult, is that what you're saying? An adult," he said scathingly. "Would have told us all this and not taken off to let us hear it from strangers."

He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't, "I'll call again soon," he said thickly, disconnecting it before his father could do more than open his mouth. He couldn't move. Sam laid his head down on his folded arms and felt hot tears burning his eyes. Stubbornly, he refused to let them fall, holding them back and breathing deeply. He'd made the right choice, if it kept them alive and out of this. He had.

"Sam?"

The soft voice startled him and he whirled around to see Bumblebee standing hesitantly by the door. "Bee?"

"I'm sorry, your heartbeat was—are you all right?"

Soft green eyes were looking at him with concern, Bumblebee entirely too pretty with blond hair framing his face and his mouth was soft and pink, so pretty. Sam stared at him with eyes that still felt too hot, aching in their sockets and Bumblebee wet his lips, a tiny flicker of pink against soft lips.

Sam was out of his chair before he'd even considered it, grabbing Bumblebee and spinning him around. He hit the door with a startled grunt, bracing himself even as Sam pressed against his back, shoving him hard against the steel.

"What—" Confusion, not quite a protest and that was perfect.

"Need you," he hissed, biting at the back of Bee's neck and felt him subside. The body beneath his searching hands shuddered once, Bee's head tipping to the side in perfect synchronization to let him bite at the soft part of his throat where a false pulse throbbed.

He had to touch more, had to feel something, jerking Bumblebee's shirt up to sweep a hand down his chest, pinching one nipple almost rudely. Bumblebee hissed in surprise, his hips bucking back against Sam and the pressure of his ass against Sam's cock was like an invitation. He fumbled at Bee's fly, trying and failing to unfasten it with one awkward hand.

"Get rid of these," Sam demanded, yanking on the back of his pants.

"Sam, I—"

"Get rid of them!"

They vanished instantly, leaving him with soft, bare skin that he had to bite at, tonguing each bump of Bee's spine and lower, licking at the cleft of his ass. Distantly he was embarrassed, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. It was like he'd been thrown free of his body, the stresses of the past week cracking him away like a shard of glass. It made it easy to stand, to tear open his own fly and snug his cock into the perfect, small space that was already slick for him, God, yes, Bumblebee always knew what he needed, always…

"Ah!" Bee wailed, a tremor wracking his slim frame as Sam shoved inside, harder than he'd meant but it was so perfect inside, perfectly hot, slick and tight, and God, God…

"God," Sam choked out, burying his face into the sweaty heat of Bumblebee's back. He couldn't even move, couldn't do anything but stand there trembling, searching for some leverage, some control.

It came from Bee, in the slight hunch of his shoulders as he managed to lean forward, just enough for Sam to rock forward and it was enough to make him move, shove deeper into that slick perfection and the tightening muscle around him was like heaven. Bee's hands were flat against the door and Sam's eyes caught on them, whitened skin around the knuckles from the pressure, so, so _human_.

Bumblebee shuddered beneath him, keening low and long, and Sam barely caught him as he went limp, both of them collapsing slowly to the floor. He hissed as he slid out abruptly, cool air like ice against his still-sensitive skin. Cold floor beneath him and dead weight in his arms, and Sam rocked just a little, holding Bee and waiting for him to come back to him.

The first shuddering breath was followed by another, Bee sitting straight up in a moment of bewilderment before he relaxed back into Sam's arms. He always seemed so fragile after he came back online, Sam thought idly, kissing his neck as Bee sighed and tipped his head back into it, seeming to accept the wordless apology that Sam tried to offer with each gentle touch. The taste of salt surprised him, not a flavor he was accustomed to from Bee and he pulled back with a frown to focus on the face beneath him.

Sam stared, almost too shocked for words. "You're crying."

"What?" Bumblebee said, confused. He touched one damp cheek and stared at the wetness on his fingers wordlessly. "I…water-based fluids are easy to replicate," he said slowly. "I simply take moisture from the air."

"Mois—I don't care how you're crying, did I hurt you?" Sam demanded.

"No, of course not." Still in that blank tone, still staring at his damp fingertips and it was only after Sam started pulling away that he blinked and focused. "You didn't hurt me, I told you before that you couldn't."

"You're crying!"

"My receptors can anticipate human reactions. It allows for me to feel spontaneously instead of always doing it myself." He smiled weakly. "It adds realism." His expression changed, concern darkening his eyes. "You spoke to your parents."

"I—" God, he'd almost managed to forget already, sex swallowing up his shame and pain, and it surged back worse, filling him. Strong arms were around him in an instant, soothing him, and Sam sank into them, letting the tears fall this time as Bee held him close on the too-cold floor, pressing gentle kisses into his hair and if he felt the soft touch of tears that weren't his own, Sam didn't say.

-finis-


	6. Nervous System Hypothesis

Nervous System Hypothesis  
by Keelywolfe

* * *

When he woke, for a moment he didn't know where he was. The room was dark and too-quiet, and the warm contours beneath his head weren't at all pillow-shaped. Fingers were sifting gently through his hair and it made Sam want to sigh, to close his eyes and let those gentle touches conspire with the quiet and darkness to soothe him back to sleep. Little flickers of memory were filtering back in though, Autobot City, showers…his parents, god—

"Shhh, Sam, I'm right here." Bumblebee's voice was soft above him.

Sam shuddered a little, turning into the warm lap that his head was resting in. He remembered everything now, his small moment of sleep amnesia chased away. Bumblebee's gentle touch slipped down the back of his head to his back, rubbing gently. It was difficult to pull away from, more so because Bumblebee seemed reluctant to let him go. Much as he would have loved to curl into Bumblebee's arms for about the rest of the year, his watch was telling him in pointed glowing numbers that it was one in the afternoon. Pure darkness in the early afternoon was one perk of living in a windowless room. That and, you know, little Decepticons couldn't creep in at night and do their killing thing.

Sam sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes, blinking harder when the lights came up on dim. Bumblebee was sitting with his back against the headboard, his hands in his lap and he watched Sam with obvious concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it's cool," Sam said, subdued. "My dad, he just—they're right to be upset, you know. I should have told them."

"I'm to blame for that," Bumblebee said instantly. "I was the one who misled them before you could tell them the truth."

It almost made Sam smile. Just like Bumblebee, to try to take the hurt away in any way he could. "You're not. You're not," he repeated insistently when Bumblebee looked rebellious. "It's not like you had a lot of choice. I'm pretty sure if your power had run out and you'd dissolved at the kitchen table it would have been worse." He did smile a little then. "Robots are one thing, I'm not sure I could have explained to my mom about my melting boyfriend."

He wasn't entirely sure why Bumblebee's entire face lit up or why he suddenly leaned forward to give Sam a warm kiss, but Sam could go with that. Curled his tongue around the warm pressure of Bee's and for the first time he noticed that little electric tingle he'd gotten with their first few kisses was gone. He didn't miss it one damned bit, cupping Bee's face in his hands and deepening the kiss, their breath coming fast between them.

This time it was Bumblebee who pulled back from Sam's clinging hands. "I'm sorry, I can't."

It made him remember that Bumblebee had actually only shown up because somehow he'd noticed Sam was upset. "Oh, man, you had work you were supposed to be doing."

"It's all right." He kept his arms around Sam, stroking his back like he was a particularly large housecat.

Sam wasn't about to be soothed as easy as that, tempting as it was. "Ratchet was already in your face about things," he said, troubled.

"I'll worry about Ratchet." There was a certain grimness to his tone that made Sam bite his lip, but he didn't ask. "However, I did want to tell you that Optimus sent me a message a short time ago. The human soldiers are working on their portion of the city and Optimus thought perhaps you'd like to assist them. It would give you an opportunity to get to know the other humans who are stationed here. "

"I guess so." Seemed like saving the world didn't get you out of chores forever.

Bumblebee pointedly ignored his lack of enthusiasm. "I think it would be good for you to spend some time with the humans. Much as I enjoy your company, I'm not allowed to remain in it one hundred percent of the time."

"I'd settle for ninety."

"If you decide to go, they'll be working in Sector C. It's close to the canteen; you should be able to find it without much difficulty. "

Sam wasn't as convinced. "All right, I'll think about it."

"I need to go." Another soft kiss said that need and want were definitely two different things.

"Yeah," Sam breathed, licking at the soft lushness of Bee's mouth, teeth catching gently on his lower lip, a soft bite that would barely sting a human.

"I need—" Bumblebee crawled over him, pressing him down on the bed, his mouth moving over Sam's fiercely even as he pushed one leg between Sam's, his knee pressing unerringly against Sam's hardening cock. Oh, this was a bad, bad idea, Bee's tongue stroking his in tender little touches.

"You need to go," Sam managed to pull away a little and he so didn't mean to tilt his head in such a way that Bee could suck on his neck. Seriously. He didn't.

"Mmmhhhmmm," mumbled against his neck, the sharp edge of teeth making Sam gasp and squirm, arching up into the sweet pressure of Bumblebee's knee rocking against him.

"Optimus is going to get mad at you," Sam gasped out.

"Nnnnnn," Bee's murmured a negative.

"Ratchet is going to—"

Sam didn't get to finish, his own protest half-voice as Bumblebee pulled abruptly away, scrambling back until he hit the headboard. The way he looked, they might as well have just gone for it. His hair was a sweaty mess, tangled wildly around his head, his lips reddened and parted as harsh breaths tore from his chest. Bee closed his eyes and pushed one hand through his tousled hair.

He took a deep breath, another. "I am sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to tease."

Sam grinned, shifting up carefully to sit and ignoring the sharp indigo protest in his balls. "Baby, you can tease me like that any time."

He'd meant it as a tease of his own but the way Bee's eyes suddenly darkened and flicked down to his lips made him inch backwards until he almost fell off the bed.

"Sam—" Low and husky.

"Go, go!" Sam laughed, shooing him away. Duty before wild teenage humping.

Bee pressed his first two fingers to his own lips, kissing them lightly before pressing them to Sam's. Only after Sam kissed them did he hop off the bed and out the door, leaving Sam to flop back on it. Jesus, please us.

Even if he'd wanted to jerk off, which, okay, he totally did, he wasn't going to. Some things were worth waiting for, he decided. A glance at his watch told him time had crept by and it was now a quarter past one. Working with the soldiers, Bee had said. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to make himself useful.

Bumblebee was right about one thing; Sector C was pretty easy to find. At least thirty men were working there, carting boxes off of trucks, searching through them, setting up equipment. Sam hung back a bit and watched them, not wanting to get in anyone's way. It was like a sea of khaki and crew cuts.

A loud shout from his left startled him and he jerked around. "Hey, look who dragged himself out of the bot side!"

A tall black man jogged out from the crowd and over to Sam. "Sir!" He saluted crisply and didn't even wait for Sam to return it. "Hey, man, good to see you!"

"Sergeant Epps," Sam exclaimed, recognizing him. He grinned and shook the offered hand firmly. "I didn't know you were here."

"Yeah, yeah, I asked for this duty, man," Epps grinned proudly. "It's Master Sergeant now. Fighting off enemy robots is damned good for a promotion. Drop any of those boxes and it's a size twelve up your ass," he shouted, a chorus of 'Yes, sir!'s rose from the crowd. "We're working on getting our new technical center set up today. These guys, man, they have some stuff that would make Steve Jobs piss himself."

"Yeah, I bet." To his surprise, a few of the guys unloading the trucks were wearing t-shirts and jeans. "You guys have civilians working here?"

"Naw, man, some of 'bots are helping out today. We don't usually ask, but they offered and hey, they can pick up some fucking heavy stuff," Epps said cheerfully, "You can usually tell the 'bots from the men even if they try to go for uniforms, the cheating bastards." It was said with obvious affection.

Sam realized Epps was right. The holograms were stiffer...blank, somehow. None of them moved with Bumblebee's easy grace, though some were obviously better than others.

"Don't know all of them by name," Epps said readily. "But they don't mind. Switch bodies on us like changing clothes, anyway. Some of 'em try on two or three a day. Trying to find a comfortable fit, Ironhide told me."

"Ironhide is here?"

"Over there," He pointed at a tall, burly man who was somewhat reminiscent of Rambo. Yeah, that would be Ironhide. He was gesturing fiercely at the Autobot contingent, probably shouting at them with as much enthusiasm as Epps.

"Hey, I gotta get back to it before they blow something up," Epps was saying.

"Yeah, Optimus said I should come help out."

"Oh, we can put you to work," Epps grinned, slapping him hard enough on the back that Sam lurched forward a step. "Come on, kid, let's get to it."

Work detail consisted mainly of carrying heavy boxes from the back of a truck and taking them into a building without dropping them, knocking into anyone else, or enduring any threats from anyone large and menacing. It was working out pretty well, if somewhat sweatily, and it hadn't taken the other soldiers long to get past their wariness of him. After a few awkward salutes and loud encouragement from Epps that they better damn well respect the kid who'd saved all their asses, they'd accepted him cautiously. It was pretty cool, Sam decided, hefting another box into the tech lab. It was heavier than he'd expected and his arms were hot and aching by the time he'd gotten through the door.

"Here, let me help." An unfamiliar hologram plucked the box easily from him, setting it in a stack with others that matched it.

"Thanks," Sam panted, looking up at his helper. He was dressed much like the others, some of whom had waved in greeting to him earlier. Long dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck and dark eyes. He smiled, proving that this particular holo was better done than a few of the others he'd seen.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Samuel Witwicky," he said, his unfamiliar voice smooth and cool.

"Just Sam's fine." He shook the offered hand, repressing a wince at the inhuman chill. Nothing at all like the warmth that Bumblebee radiated.

"Sam, then. It's a pleasure to finally meet our savior." He held on to Sam's hand lightly and seemed not to notice Sam's slight attempt to pull away. "Yes, our savior," he repeated softly.

"I don't know about all that," Sam laughed uneasily. "I don't think I caught your name?"

"Ah, yes, you haven't seen me in this form, have you," he smiled, eyes gleaming. "You can call me Sideswipe."

"Oh, yeah," Sam brightened, happy to hear a familiar name. "Bumblebee's talked about you."

"Has he? I'm a little surprised that he would, to you." Something in his tone made Sam want to step back, some bewildering discomfort. A flutter of panic woke in his stomach and he finally twisted his hand away, stepping backwards. He suddenly realized they were the only ones in this part of the building and why that made him uncomfortable, he couldn't say but he sure as hell wasn't hanging around it figure it out.

"We better get back to work," Sam said, slowly, taking another careful step back.

"Oh, yes, of course. But first, could you take this box of supplies over to the infirmary? I believe it accidentally got mixed in with the technical equipment."

"Yeah, sure," Sam took it, a little relieved that it was surprisingly light.

Sideswipe brushed past him and Sam shivered again at the chill. "Second building on the left," he called back, rejoining the other workers.

"No problem," Sam muttered, walking outside. That was the guy Bumblebee wanted him to meet? Man, they had some seriously different taste in friends. The infirmary was easy enough to find, the telltale red cross on the door leading the way. It was dark inside, sunlight creeping in from between the slats of the shades. Not open for business yet, he guessed.

There were a couple boxes off to one side and Sam decided that would be a perfect spot for his. He stacked it on top, dusting off his hands and stretching. At least he wouldn't have any trouble sleeping tonight.

A sound startled him, coming from further into the building. He could see another door across the room, light seeping in from underneath. Another sound, someone's voice, he thought, and okay, this might not be a great idea but maybe they needed whatever was in the box. He might as well let whoever was here know he'd brought it. He'd just turned the knob and opened the door a bare crack when a voice startled him.

"This isn't working!"

_Bumblebee?_ He almost said it aloud, stifling it at the last moment. What the hell was he doing in the infirmary, had he been hurt? It would be just like him to get injured and not tell Sam about it.

"Bumblebee, you must relax."

That exasperated voice was familiar too, Ratchet. Okay, Bumblebee had totally gotten himself hurt. Sam slipped silently into the room, which was filled with racks of medical supplies and boxes. Pretty weird place to be treating an injury and way too small for even Bumblebee in his robot form but what the hell else could they be doing in here?

"Just relax; I'm not going to hurt you." Soothing, or apparently as soothing as Ratchet could get. For a medical officer, Sam had noticed that his bedside manner could be a little lacking. When he'd repaired Bumblebee's legs some months ago, he'd been just as likely to smack Bee on the back of the head for his impatience as he had been to offer a pain blocker.

"I'm not worried about you hurting me," Gritted out and it certainly sounded like Ratchet was hurting him. Sam stepped cautiously closer, trying to get to a place where he could see and—

Oh, god.

It was like a flash bulb in his head, a hot snap so sharp that for a moment, Sam forgot how to breathe. Couldn't even comprehend what he was seeing, much less understand it. Bumblebee and Ratchet, both in their holo forms but Bumblebee was naked, Ratchet behind him, jerking him off with one rough hand. Every detail seemed magnified in Sam's eyes, the tightness around Bumblebee's mouth, the little grunts he made, familiar and wrong, wrong, Ratchet still fully clothed, his eyes dispassionate and his grip around Bee's cock firm and rhythmic. He wasn't even aware of stepping backwards, two three steps until he collided with the shelves, a rain of small cartons falling on top of him.

Bee's eyes flew open and met his unerringly, sharp green on brown and his mouth opened, words escaping that Sam couldn't fathom.

Another flash, harsh as a slap, and this one told him to _leave_. He took another stumbling step backwards, shaking his head at the hand that Bee reached out to him and finally he turned and ran, staggering out the door and slamming it behind him.

"Sam, stop!"

Ratchet's voice, his brain told him dimly. He ignored it, racing to the outside door and he had to get out, out, out, what the hell was he doing here anyway, some fucking hero, he'd just been born on the wrong branch of the wrong family tree and-

A large hand appeared in front of him and Sam skidded to a stop a fraction of a second too late, colliding with hard metal that instantly curled around him.

"I said, stop," Ratchet said calmly, lifting him up to eye level.

"Put me down!" Sam struggling for about ten seconds before it occurred to him that he was a good twenty feet away from the ground and two broken legs.

"Sam, you are under a misconception and I believe it would be better that I explain it than Bumblebee. He's very distraught at the moment."

"I don't care, put me down!" It was close to a scream, uncaring that about two dozen solders were just around the corner.

"Sam, listen to me," Ratchet said sharply. "He can't continue to power down every time you have intercourse, he's going to hurt himself."

The blush that had already started heating his cheeks at the word intercourse went as cold as the pit of his stomach. "Wha-hurt himself?"

"I see he hasn't told you anything," Ratchet said dryly. He settled down to sit on the ground, groaning a little as stiff gears shifted. "Autobots were not made to be sent consistently into involuntary stasis. It could cause permanent sensor damage, memory loss, corruption of data."

_Memory loss_. "But-he didn't tell me!"

"Bumblebee has always been very stubborn, although your reaction gives me some insight into his reluctance. Humans are so possessive," he said it with a touch of exasperation. "Nonetheless, if he wishes to remain in a 'relationship' with you," Sam could almost hear the air quotes. "Then he needs to be properly trained and I'm afraid that isn't something that you can assist him with."

"Why not?" Sam challenged, more than a little belligerent. Bumblebee was keeping things from him, Ratchet was acting like they were kids playing dress up and he was twenty feet from the ground and not much further from a huge fucking audience. Add in that his parents probably hated him, and as days went, this pretty much blew.

"Stubborn." Ratchet sighed. "Sam, no matter how realistic his simulation is, Bumblebee is not human and you cannot expect him to learn from one. Can't humans be injured during their sexual relations if they aren't careful?"

"I guess so," Sam mumbled, not exactly pleased to be discussing any kind of relations with Ratchet.

He nodded. "Just so, and you wouldn't go to a..." His optics flickered, indicating that he was searching for a proper comparison. "You wouldn't go to a dolphin to teach you how humans have sex, would you? And certainly not a virgin dolphin."

Okay, the image of virgin dolphins having sex with humans...ugh, he'd need mental steel wool to scrub that out of his brain.

"Look, much as I'd like to keep talking about dolphins having sex, could you put me down now?"

"Of course." Ratchet started lowering him and then frowned, raising him back up. "Why were you in the infirmary to begin with? It isn't being used yet, we haven't even finished stocking it."

"Someone asked me to bring in a box of supplies that got mixed in with the other stuff," Sam said, tiredly. God, he just wanted to go bury his head in his pillow for about a thousand years. "Sideswipe asked me."

"Sideswipe?" His frown deepened. "Sideswipe wasn't scheduled to assist—"

The sound of screeching metal made them both jerk, Ratchet's hand tightening almost uncomfortably. Shouts rose in the air from around the other side of the building, human and something else entirely.

"I just had to be a medic," Ratchet grumbled, his long strides carrying them quickly. "I could have been a weapon specialist, but no…."

They just turned the corner when a blur of yellow and black crashed past them.

Bumblebee and Sunstreaker, Sam realized, watching as Bumblebee drove his fist into Sunstreaker's midsection, sending him stumbling backwards.

"You need to stop them!" Sam shouted to Ratchet over the din of colliding metal.

"Why, so I can repair my own injuries along with theirs? No, thank you."

Sam struggled a little in Ratchet's grip, yelping as it tightened. "And what would you do, give them a time out?" Ratchet said, exasperated. "If I let them step on you, I'll have to answer to far too many people. Besides, I hate paperwork."

The crowd wasn't going to be any help either, Sam realized with a sinking heart. Both human and Autobot soldiers were shouting encouragement and Sam would swear he saw money changing hands.

The two Autobots had separated, Sunstreaker favoring one leg a fraction while they circled each other slowly, each looking for an opening. He said something in that staticky language he'd used before when he'd insulted Sam, his hands raised placating.

"Sunstreaker is claiming innocence in any mishap," Ratchet translated helpfully. Bumblebee responded in kind, one hand cutting sharply through the air. "Bumblebee is saying that Sunstreaker knows exactly what he did and he is going to shove his…oh, I don't think there is a human equivalent for that word. If it were possible with Sunstreaker's head still attached, I'm sure it would be painful."

He didn't have a chance to translate whatever Bumblebee said next because Sunstreaker lunged at him suddenly, catching Bumblebee by one arm and jerking him off his feet. The momentum sent them both crashing to the ground, twisting as each tried to gain the upper hand and slamming into one of the satellite towers.

"I just calibrated that arm," Ratchet complained. "And if they don't kill each other, Ironhide may do it for him. He's been working on that shield array all week."

A cheer rose from the crowd as they came to a rest with Bumblebee on top, an inarticulate howl of rage coming from him as he raised one fist. And froze when Sunstreaker's laser canon appeared inches from his face, a hush falling over everyone.

"Enough!"

"And just when it was getting interesting," Ratchet murmured.

Optimus strode into the group, the crowd parting like water before the quake of his steps. Bee and Sunstreaker rose slowly to their feet, their optics downcast as Optimus glared at them both. "Fighting amongst yourself in front of our allies. Unacceptable." He thundered, pacing in front of them. "You're both on report."

"I didn't…" Sunstreaker protested. He fell silent immediately under Prime's stern expression. Bumblebee flinched when it swung over to him, blue optics judging him harshly.

"I expected better from you, Bumblebee."

It was so unfair Sam would have protested if Ratchet hadn't tightened his hold warningly.

Still glaring at Bumblebee, Optimus demanded, "You began this. You will explain yourself and you will do it, _now_."

Bumblebee opened his mouth but the only sound he made was rough and pained. He touched his throat and winced.

"Ah, he tore those blasted cables loose again," Ratchet sighed.

Optimus nodded, "A fitting punishment, then. You can get repairs done tomorrow. For now, the two of you will recalibrate this shield array or you won't need me to offer further reprimand."

A low growl from Ironhide confirmed that and when Optimus's gaze turned to the rest of the bystanders, each of them suddenly remembered that they had other things that urgently needed their attention. Sam bit his lip and watched as Bumblebee and Sunstreaker began to silently reposition the satellite dish.

"I liked you better like this, anyway," Sunstreaker said, his voice pitched low enough that Optimus couldn't hear. His fucking _familiar_ voice, son of a _bitch_. "It's about the only thing that ever made you shut up."

Bumblebee didn't react, his eyes on his work and Sam began to struggle again in Ratchet's grip, protesting loudly when the medic refused to let him go.

"Dammit, Ratchet, would you just put me down!"

Bumblebee heard him, turning his way and their eyes met briefly before Ratchet turned away, striding off and carrying Sam along for the ride.

"You should have let me say something," Sam shouted, slamming a fist down on Ratchet much larger one. "It wasn't all Bee's fault!"

"Prime puts a great deal of trust in Bumblebee," Ratchet told him calmly. He stopped in front of the infirmary again, lowering Sam to the ground but not letting go just yet. "Especially for one as young as he is. He needs to live up to that standard."

"So that makes it okay for Sunstreaker to provoke him?"

"It means that Bumblebee should not rise to the provocation." Ratchet finally let go, shifting into his car form before his hologram abruptly formed in front of Sam. "Since my scheduled activity for the day seems to have been postponed, I thought it would be an opportune moment for us to talk. Come on."

He walked into the infirmary and Sam stood stubbornly still, sullenly glaring at his back. A nudge at his back made him jump, Ratchet's bumper pushing him forward warningly.

"Fine, fine," Sam muttered, trudging after him. Ratchet was looking in the box Sam had brought, studying a package of bandages.

"It's commendable that you should wish to defend Bumblebee, though I would think that you would be more upset with Sunstreaker on your own behalf," Ratchet said musingly, neatly stacking bandages and small bottles on the counter.

"Why?"

Ratchet paused and glanced back at Sam, obviously considering his words. Sam smiled thinly and shook his head. His face felt too tight, like if he moved too much it would shatter and leave him with no expression at all. "Because he was the one who sent me over here? I'm plenty pissed about that, actually," Sam frowned, considering what he might do about that and shook it away for the moment. "But he wouldn't have been able to do it if Bee had just told me the truth."

"I believe he was trying to protect you." Ratchet said it gently, a touch of admonishment in his voice.

"From what?" Anger was like a low flame in the back of his mind. Everything he'd given up to come here, his parents, Mikaela, his _life_, and Bumblebee didn't even trust him enough to tell him that their having sex was killing him? "From life? You guys can protect me from Decepticons, okay, but there it ends. All right?"

"Fine," Ratchet said mildly. "You may recall that I encouraged Bumblebee to speak to you from the first."

"So tell me what's going on, then."

"To be honest, I'm not quite familiar with the problem that Bumblebee is having. I thought perhaps training would help him. He chose to have me do it. He was concerned with discretion and he trusted me with his privacy." Ratchet frowned. "Something I failed him with, I'm afraid."

"You think?" Sam rolled his eyes.

Ratchet either didn't hear him or ignored him. "I believe I was a poor choice, anyway. Bumblebee couldn't relax with me and it was hindering our efforts. He may be more comfortable with one of his contemporaries. My first preference was Sunstreaker since I am aware of his history, but that seems to be out of the question."

"Man, your grasp of reality is just fantastic, Mr. Obvious McDuh." Sam muttered. A little louder, he added, "Sunstreaker has a history?"

"Sunstreaker is what would be known in vulgar terms as a 'simi' or one who has a preference for simulated mating. Some Autobots do. It's considered something of a minor perversion but it is generally acceptable amongst Autobots. I believe Decepticons found it to be punishable by death, or our ranks might have been fewer."

The Autobots were all a bunch of robotic perverts? Sam had to stifle a hysterical giggle. "Then why does he seem to hate me?"

"I couldn't begin to conjecture. His reasons for disliking Bumblebee are not mine to explain. However, with Sunstreaker being an unacceptable option, I believe that Sideswipe would be an appropriate second choice. He has been in one simi relationship that I know of without difficulty. I will discuss the matter with him." Ratchet glanced at him, considering. "Unless you believe the problem is with his technique. Have you noticed anything strange about it?"

"Er…no," Sam stammered, feeling his cheeks warm. "Nothing but the whole going unconscious thing."

"Very strange," Ratchet mused. "I'll speak with Sideswipe today. This issue does need resolved sooner rather than later. Since he'll be staying in Autobot City from now on, Prime is eager for him to resume his regular duties. "

"Duties?"

"He wasn't created for the sole purpose of guarding you, Sam," Ratchet said, amused. "Bumblebee is an expert in espionage and recon. "

"He's a _spy_?"

"I suppose that would be an appropriate term in the human vernacular. It was why he was the first sent to earth to begin with. He's capable of blending into almost any environment. Where the rest of us can process perhaps a dozen different sensor arrays, Bumblebee is capable of hundreds, perhaps thousands."

"A spy," Sam whispered, numbly. Was there anything Bumblebee had told him?

"Yes, but his duties won't require him to leave Autobot City. He accomplished them well enough when he was staying at your home and it will be much easier for him here with a better power supply."

Sam barely heard him. "Ratchet, I think I'm going to go lay down for a while. I'm getting a headache." It wasn't a lie, harsh pressure was throbbing at his temples.

"Would you like an analgesic? A painkiller," he translated. "I've been training to become proficient in human medicine as well. It's why they stationed me here, closer to the humans."

"No, I just want a nap." In a dark, dark room, with no windows. His room.

"Of course." He watched Sam slip out of the infirmary with a frown before accessing his wifi. There was someone he would do well to contact.

It was hours later when the door to Sam's room opened up quietly, Bumblebee stepping hesitantly inside. Sam was still on his bed, his eyes on the ceiling as they had been since he got back here. Long moments passed before he looked at Bumblebee and saw the silent misery in his eyes.

"So, all this time studying humans and it never occurred to you that I might want to know about you having to have sex with Ratchet," Sam asked conversationally.

Bee held up his hands helplessly and Sam remembered that Optimus had told him to get his voice fixed tomorrow. Just wonderful.

"Okay, fine, you didn't want to mention that. Or anything about how you might be killing yourself having sex with me, no, you have to protect me from that," Sam's voice was rising, the taste of anger sharp in the back of his throat. "Never mind that it could be damaging your memory and that I'd have to live with the fact that I was the one who did it."

"And then I get to hear from Ratchet, remember him, he was the one jerking you off this afternoon. I get to hear from him that you're a spy, one of the best that the Autobots have! You can pretend to be anything, he told me. And I hear none of this from you when you _could_ talk! Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

He hated the plaintive whine in his voice, hated the helpless way Bee held up his hands, the pathetic look in his eyes. Lurching to his feet, Sam stalked over to his desk, tearing through the drawers until he found a pen and pad of paper. He tossed them at Bumblebee's feet, glaring at the floor while Bee picked them up and wrote quickly. Uncertainly, he handed the pad back to Sam, neat, tiny lettering at the top.

_Because that is all subterfuge. It's lies._ Sam kept his eyes on the paper, not looking at Bumblebee._ I wanted this to be real. But lovingmaking was not included in my original programming. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong._

"But you didn't tell me any of this!" Sam shouted, his voice cracking. "You didn't think I'd want to know?"

Bee took the paper back and wrote one sentence, holding it out for Sam to see.

_I didn't want you to think this was a game to me._

Sam crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. "What makes you think it isn't a game to me?" he asked harshly. Did Bumblebee really think silence wasn't just a different form of lying? Either way, it kept the truth from him. Bumblebee would have just let him go on his merry way and he still wouldn't know anything if it weren't for Sunstreaker. It was galling to think that Sam owed that asshole anything.

Bumblebee was staring at him, his puzzled expression shifting to dawning awareness. His lips parted in silent protest, his eyes widening and filling with dismay.

Sam tore a hand through his hair, shaken, "Look, I just-"

A sound interrupted him but it came from outside, the same low moan that he'd heard when they were in Sector 7.

Too late, he stuttered out, "Wait—"

The hologram faded, glittering dust shadowing the floor.

He heard the screech tires, the harsh roar of an engine and Sam ran to the door, his hands felt too clumsy and wrong and he yanked it open. "Wait!"

Bumblebee was already a streak of yellow, his tires screaming as he sped out of sight.

"Dammit!" Sam flung himself down on the step, burying his face in his hands.

"Sam? Is something wrong?" Sam blinked up, startled to recognize Sideswipe in his robotic form, gazing down at him with concern and thank you, God, for his voice being completely different than his brother's. "Ratchet asked me to come speak with you and Bumblebee."

"Can you talk to Bumblebee through your wifi?" Sam asked urgently.

"Of course," Sideswipe didn't even question him.

"Tell him I didn't mean it. Tell him I'm sorry, I was just upset," Sam was beyond any embarrassment even though he could hear the thickness in his own voice. "Tell him it's not a game. It's real. I swear, it's real. Just…tell him."

Sideswipe's expression betrayed no emotion, only silence as he accessed his wireless connection. Long moments went by before he looked back at Sam and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, he won't acknowledge me."

Sam sank back down, pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. "Shit," he said, wearily.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Sideswipe settled down next to him in a flurry of shifting gears and hydraulics.

"No." Not one damned bit. Talking was what caused the problem to begin with.

"If you'd like, I can keep my sensors attuned to Bumblebee so I can tell if he is returning?" Sideswipe offered. "There are few Autobots who can keep themselves from being detected as well as Bumblebee, but then, there are few who are as able to detect him as I am."

"Yeah, that'd be great." Dully. "Why are you so talented?"

"Bumblebee and I are of a similar design." Sideswipe stretched his legs out in front of him. "My brother and I were given spark only a short time before Bumblebee was."

"So you're about the same age."

"Yes."

"And you do the spy stuff, too?" It was easier to talk about something else, Sam decided. Anything but that devastated look in Bumblebee's eyes before he'd faded away.

"Spy…you mean surveillance? No, no," Sideswipe chuckled. "I'm a straight up soldier. Bumblebee is the expert when it comes to sniffing out Decepticons."

"He's good, huh?" Not quite reluctantly. He wanted to hear more about Bumblebee and Sideswipe seemed eager enough to speak of it.

"He's brilliant. But that was what he was made for. It's why his design specs call for him to be so much smaller than most Autobots. Even so, his capacity for holo-construction is unmatched as far as I am aware." Sideswiped cocked his head to the side. "I suspect that's one of the reasons my brother dislikes him so much."

It piqued Sam's interest despite himself. "Yeah?"

"Yes. Sunstreaker asked Bumblebee once to help him perfect his holographic sensor arrays and Bumblebee refused. Told him he wasn't about to assist him in manipulating any sentient organics." He looked pained. "I'm afraid my brother has misled many organics like yourself into thinking he is one of them."

"Why would he do that?" Aside from an overwhelming urge to be an asshole but somehow it seemed wrong to say that in front of his brother.

"He enjoys the mating," Sideswipe said bluntly. "And I admit, I have done so myself before which is why Ratchet asked me to assist Bumblebee. To be honest, I never expected him to involve himself with an organic species. He always seemed to find the idea distasteful."

"All that blood and guts, eh?" Said guts were currently twisting.

"Perhaps," Sideswipe agreed. "But I believe it was also difficult for him to accept that he would have to be intimate with someone in such a misleading fashion. He has thousands of saved simulated organics and I believe he could easily create any he wanted. But then where is his individuality?"

"I don't know."

Sideswipe studied him, one large finger lightly touching his back and Sam jerked away instantly, not even able to regret it when Sideswipe flinched. "Sam, I understand this must be difficult and strange for you, but I assure you that Bumblebee feels the same. Although I doubt Ratchet helped," he added darkly. "Ratchet is a being of extreme logic and all he saw was a problem to be solved. He didn't comprehend the emotions surrounding it. I doubt he could. Having never experienced it, he can't understand the great pleasure that can come with it. Or the great pain."

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice low.

"You are both very young and your relationship is very new. There are always problems to be worked through and I believe you can do it."

"I didn't mean to hurt him." His voice sounded too young and childish. Christ, he could be so stupid sometimes. So damned selfish and stupid.

"Ah, well," There was gentle humor to the words. "The young are prone to that as well. Ah," he looked up, his eyes flickering as he read something behind them that Sam would never be able to see. "Bumblebee is approximately twenty miles west of here. Shall we?" He shifted into his car form and Sam was opening the door before he'd even finished.

"Yeah, let's go."

Never had twenty miles seemed so far away. Sam strained his eyes for any sign of him, squinting against the dimming light as the sun crept downward.

There, a flash of yellow and shining metal. The seatbelt tightened around him warningly, keeping him still until Sideswipe came to a complete stop. The door swung open on its own, Sam flying from the seat and then he couldn't move. Part of him was afraid that Bumblebee would see him and run away again but then, he had to know they were there. He was in his robot form, leaning against a large stone formation and gazing out into the flat desert in the direction of the sunset.

Hesitantly, Sam took a step forward, another, and he had no idea what the hell to say. Blue optics flashed towards him and met his eyes steadily and words came to him unbidden.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, simply. "I was upset. I didn't mean it."

Bumblebee didn't make a sound, just watched him. But he didn't flinch away when Sam stepped closer, laying uncertain hands on him. Carefully, he climbed up Bee's leg to settle on the sun-warmed metal of his knee, pulling his own knees up so he could wrap his arms around them. They stared at each other in silence, Sam's breath hitching just a little as he tried to come up with something better, anything to make Bee understand.

"This is real, I swear," Sam said. He heard the thickness in his voice and tried to swallow it away. Couldn't. "I'm so sorry, I just—"

Warm hands slipped around him from behind, one of them raising a single finger to his lips. Sam fell silent, closing his eyes and leaning back into the heat of Bumblebee's arms. Bee pressed his face into Sam's neck and inhaled deeply, his breath stuttering slightly as Sam slipped his hands over Bee's and clasped his wrists, holding on to him. The last wash of sunlight crept down them, soft as a lover's touch and they held each other as it faded away.

-finis-


	7. Different Applications of Moral Support

Title: Different Applications of Moral Support  
by Keelywolfe  
Bumblebee/Sam  
Rated NC-17 

Summary: A continuation of the 'human' series, which are in order:

Forms of Life  
Too Human  
Experiments in Human Nature  
Public Education  
Knee-Jerk Reaction  
Nervous System Hypothesis

* * *

Sam liked to think of himself as a supportive sort of person. When Mojo had broken his leg in the Great Coffee Table/Love Seat/ Sofa Incident, Sam had been the one to wrap him in a towel and take him to the vet, risking life, limbs, and fingers. He'd seen his fair share of the types of injuries an Autobot could sustain, too. The wreckage that been Jazz, Bumblebee's own damaged legs. Been there, done that.

So as far as he was concerned, there was no reason that he couldn't go with Bumblebee when he finally got his vocal processors repaired. Bumblebee had been of a far different mind and his written argument against it had been both brilliant and sensible, and probably could have included several graphs and charts if Sam hadn't managed to destroy all that logic with one sentence.

"I don't want you to be alone with Ratchet."

After that, it was just a matter of finding a place to sit.

What he hadn't expected was that watching Ratchet work would make him want to upchuck all over the nice clean floors. It was his own fault, Sam thought grimly, swallowing back nausea as another rush of dark fluid washed over Ratchet's hands. He just had to be here, even though Bee had been pretty insistent that he could go play with the soldier boys another day. But, no, no just the thought of Ratchet alone with Bumblebee had made his insides tighten unpleasantly and the back of his tongue taste penny-sharp.

It was stupid of him; Sam knew that. Ratchet was chief medical officer, he'd probably known Bumblebee for ages, and it wasn't like wiring a vocal modulator was anywhere in the realm of sexual. But the mental vision of Bumblebee standing there, of Ratchet…Sam had to suppress a shudder. He'd seen his fair share of porn or at least as much as he could hide on his hard drive but nothing about that had seemed even remotely hot.

Not that was supposed to be. He knew that. He did know it, he was just...stupid.

That left him here, creeping backwards the moment the first spurt of fluid had caught Ratchet full in the face, until he was practically climbing up the wall and out of the air vent and he couldn't even pretend he was offering any amount of moral support. What he felt like was a warden. He trusted them, he did, he just couldn't let it go, not yet. Not even with queasiness churning in his stomach and tightness in his throat that had nothing to do with doubt.

Ratchet either sensed his troubles somehow or just noticed the interesting shade of green Sam probably was, because he said without looking up. "He can't feel it, Sam. I shut down all of his pain processors."

"Good, that's good," Sam mumbled, almost nonsensically, tearing his eyes away from Ratchet's stained fingers and focusing instead on a tray of various parts that were laid out next to him in precise order. Bolts, bolts, funny little bendy part, cables. Little bits of Bumblebee and oh, god, please don't be thinking things like that again.

Bee made a soft, muted sound and Sam looked up, taking an involuntary step forward and he was already reaching out to him.

"Bumblebee, keep still," Ratchet ordered evenly. "This is delicate work. If I tear any of these cables, you'll be at least another month playing charades while I construct new ones. And Sam, keep back if it makes you feel ill. Human stomach acid is highly corrosive. "

"I'm fine," Sam protested, even as his stomach gave another lurch at the shredding sound that rose from Ratchet's rapidly moving fingers.

"Mmmhmm," Ratchet agreed vaguely. He pulled a long, dripping cable out of Bee's throat and tossed it aside, picking up one of the fresh ones laid out for him and threading it into the open cavity. "Of course you are. Keep back anyway. By the way, I spoke with Sideswipe yesterday. He'll be coming to speak with you after he gets off duty."

"I spoke to him yesterday," Sam said, latching eagerly onto any other topic of conversation. When he'd woken that morning, curled up in the backseat of Bumblebee's vehicle form with the sun blazing in through the windows, Sideswipe had already been gone. They'd driven back to Autobot City in silence, Sam wrapped in Bee's holographic arms. It had made every muscle ache worth it. "What kind of duty is he doing?"

"He's patrolling with Sunstreaker. Prime thought it would be better if Sunstreaker stayed away from the human contingent for the time being."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Sam muttered. Bumblebee made a noise of agreement and Ratchet hissed in frustration.

"Bumblebee, I swear, I am going to power you down if you can't keep still!"

"Sorry, Ratchet," Sam said guiltily.

"Don't apologize for what you have no control over."

"It's a bummer for Sideswipe, though, playing warden to Sunstreaker," Sam observed. He almost touched one of the bolts, vaguely wondering at the feel before he quickly pulled his fingers back. He wasn't sure if humans could contaminate Autobot body parts but it didn't seem like a good time to find out. "How did such a nice guy get such an asshole for a brother?"

"Even Autobots don't get to make choices like that, Sam," Ratchet said absently. "And I'm sure it's a role that Sideswipe has had to play many times. Sunstreaker is—" he hesitated uncharacteristically. "I believe the human phrase would be he has issues."

"Major issues."

"That doesn't mean he is to blame for them." Ratchet had this way of talking that was so completely bland and yet still managed to convey that he thought everyone else in near proximity was a complete jackhole. "However, it also doesn't excuse his actions. If another incident occurs, may I suggest you bring it to Prime's attention rather than trying to resolve the issue yourself? It would save me a great deal of effort."

Oh, yeah. Definite implications of jackhole in that.

"Either that, or make sure you tear out his vocal processors first," Sam said helpfully. Ratchet actually paused long enough to give him a look which Sam met with owl-eyed innocence. Like he cared if Ratchet had extra work.

Extra work which involved tugging out another sodden cable to toss aside, the horrible squelching sound sending Sam back another step.

"At least reserve your violence for limbs," Ratchet grumped. "Voice modulators are entirely too delicate. In any case, Sideswipe agreed to assist you in your mating crisis."

It was refreshing to have an entirely different emotion to close his eyes against. "Could we not call it mating? I feel like I should be on display somewhere."

"That could be arranged."

Silence.

"Ratchet, did you just make a joke?" Sam asked hopefully. Please, let that be a joke. A flash memory to Ratchet's hologram the day before, the detached expression as he touched Bumblebee, jerking him off with all the emotion of…of a robot. A being of extreme logic, Sideswipe had called him, but Sam had seen him after Jazz, he'd seen the tenderness that Ratchet had used with his fallen comrade--

Ratchet interrupted his thoughts. "If mating isn't your preferred term, then you are more than welcome to pick out an appropriate euphemism." Another cable threaded in, the sound only slightly less welcoming than fingernails across a chalk board.

"Just calling it sex is fine," Sam muttered, and maybe idle conversation wasn't the best thing going for him right now. Underneath the very faint hum that always came from Autobots, a soft drip, drip sound registered in the back of Sam's mind and he realized it was coming from Bee. A slow, steady fall of liquid pooling on the floor beneath him, whatever it was that passed for Autobot blood, dark and viscous _(blood)_ on the floor, dripping from Ratchet's fingertips, staining the drop cloth over Bee's chest, so much of it and—

Sam managed to stagger outside before he threw up.

He felt a little better a few hours later, after spending a half hour lying down with a cold cloth over his eyes. The girls had it right though, it was nice to have a boyfriend to hold you up while you puked. Bumblebee had not only held him up, he'd also helped him back inside and into the back room, gotten him a wet washcloth and silently followed Ratchet's shouted orders to get Sam an antiemetic and hurry up, he couldn't solder this until Bee shut down his projection unit.

It wasn't so bad listening from a distance, only the faint hiss of heated metal as Ratchet soldered whatever parts needed it. Sam had nearly fallen asleep before Ratchet came clanking back in, rattling off a list of orders to the both of them while Bumblebee stood impatiently nearby, all signs of his recent surgery wiped away.

"No talking for at least seventy-two hours, until it sets. No fighting any allies, period, if you don't mind. Aside from my personal reasons, I believe Prime is concerned with making a good impression with our new allies and attempts to kill each other will not be well received. And no sex until you speak with Sideswipe and attempt to work through your problems. Is that understood?"

Sam nodded, more in a sincere desire to be somewhere far away from Ratchet than anything else. Bumblebee's nod was more grudging, barely a movement, and Ratchet was more than a little exasperated when he snapped out, "Is that understood, soldier?"

That earned him a sharp head nod and only then did he let them leave. Stepping into the sunshine seemed like a miracle and Sam inhaled deeply, skirting the trashcan where he'd yakked up his breakfast an hour earlier. A light tap on his shoulder made him turn, accepting the small note that Bee's hologram handed him.

_I think Ratchet has been spending too much time with your military._

Sam couldn't help a snicker. "Yeah, I think that's possible. Soooooo," he stretched, muscles that hadn't been pleased to spend the night curled up on a car seat protesting the move. "We can't talk, and we can't have sex—" he stopped, not entirely happy with the implication there. Like there was nothing to do if they couldn't have sex and it hadn't be true a couple of months ago, but there had been talking involved there, late nights and laughter and Ratchet might not make jokes but Bee loved them, slyly playing ridiculous songs that would make him choke whenever he drove his mom to her step aerobics class--

No, don't think of that, not yet, that wound still fresh and bleeding.

Another tap on his shoulder pulled him from his darker thoughts and he looked up into Bumblebee's amused eyes. He crooked his finger at Sam, gesturing for him to follow.

"You've got an idea?"

A quick nod and that same sly little smile.

"All right, but if this involves anything that will get Ratchet pissed at us, you get to explain."

When he'd first chosen to come to Autobot city, before he'd even known what it was called, he'd had certain reasons in mind. First and foremost was to get someplace where he didn't have Decepticons trying to smoosh him. He hadn't really considered what he'd do when he got here, hadn't actually considered much past graduation besides a few college applications.

But he'd never imagined he'd spend an afternoon losing at Dance Dance Revolution to a holographic projection.

It would probably be a little sulky to point out that one of them didn't have the capacity to process every move in a millisecond but was hard to feel even slightly disappointed in the face of Bumblebee's obvious delight at winning. Ten minutes in and Sam had already been sweating. By then, they'd managed to gain a small audience, other soldiers wandering into the rec center and staying to watch Sam lose pathetically on the medium setting while Bumblebee twisted away on expert.

The perk of an audience meant that eventually someone else would get bold and challenge the winner. And that meant Sam got to sit down and wait until he felt a little less like having a heart attack.

Not that just watching was such a horrible thing. Sam propped his chin on one hand and let his eyes rest on Bee, the sounds of the soldiers cheering around him fading a little. He knew it was a hologram but there was something about Bumblebee that was so utterly attractive to him. His mouth curved in a silent laugh, his eyes shining, and his soft blond hair damp with sweat and curling at the ends. A perfect illusion of a pretty teenage boy. An illusion.

_I wanted this to be real._

Real, Bumblebee had said. This past week had seriously challenged Sam's definition of reality.

Someone settled next to him, watching, and Sam glanced at him briefly before looking back in an outright stare. Not just because of his red hair, and it was _red_, not a hair color normally found outside of a bottle of cheap Hot Topic hair dye. It was his face, the lines of it a sharp echo of Sunstreaker's holo image, blue eyes meeting Sam's and the easy warmth in them made Sam relax a little, enough to look back at Bumblebee.

"I see he's enjoying himself," Sideswipe said, amused.

"Yeah, he's beaten everyone so far."

"Bumblebee does like to win," he agreed. Sideswipe leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "I do think after this round we should get started on our, ah, task for the day."

He didn't quite nod in agreement, like if he somehow didn't acknowledge that Sideswipe had said anything then he wouldn't have to think about what the task of the day was supposed to be. Taking care of their 'mating crisis' - Ratchet's term for it - like he didn't know exactly what that was going to entail. Ratchet had called in training, teaching Bumblebee how to have human sex the Autobot way, but he could call it anything he liked and it would still be Sideswipe and Bumblebee instead of Ratchet and Bumblebee and no part of Sam had to like it.

There was a surge in laughter and applause as the game coasted to a finish, Bumblebee twirling in a move that would have made Travolta proud. The young man he'd been competing against threw up his hands in defeat, staggering away laughing and Bumblebee's eyes were lit with that same laughter, silent as it was, green eyes shining in a way that was so remarkably _human_ and Sam had to catch his breath, hands tightening into fists as he had to resist the sudden urge to drag Bee away somewhere that no one else could see him like that.

Then his eyes fell on Sam, meeting his own and they changed, darkening, Bee's smile relaxing into something that made entirely different parts of his body tighten. They held gazes for what felt like ages, brown on deep green, until Sideswipe shifted next to him and Bee's gaze flickered towards him. He went utterly still for a moment, the smile freezing on his face before it melted away, shifting into something that didn't meet his eyes.

He waved away the loud protests and groans of the crowd, shrugging helplessly at their catcalls and threats of, "Next time, man, next time I'll have you!"

His shoes scuffed lightly against the floor when he paused in front of them, hands in his pockets. Bee didn't look at either of them, walking on without waiting to see if they followed and after a moment, they did, Sideswipe trailing after Sam in silence, but then, what was there to say?

Bumblebee was already sitting on Sam's bed when he came in, his knees pulled up so he could wrap his arms around him, his chin resting on them. It made a slow burn ache in the pit of Sam's stomach, something like anger but not at Bumblebee, not exactly, more like at the world, for making this so choiceless while Bee radiated silent misery.

"It's always a pleasure to be so welcome." Wryly, from behind him as Sideswipe quietly closed the door and leaned against it, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. He'd left it loose, another contrast from his brother and Sam wondered why he chose to look so much like him. Maybe he didn't have a choice.

"Yeah, I wish we could say we were happy to have you over," Sam said heavily.

Sideswipe waved a hand carelessly. "You two are making entirely too big a deal about this. It's really just a wiring issue. You both look like someone is making you attend the big Decepticon orgy and bake sale."

Sam snorted, "Thank you for that mental image."

"I try." He frowned at Bumblebee, who hadn't even looked up. "Look, it's just me and I've known you since your conception, Little Bee," Sideswipe chided and Bumblebee's eyes flew up. He gestured furiously and Sideswipe laughed, tipping his head back. "I'll stop calling you it when you stop acting it."

Bee's next gesture was so purely obscene that Sam choked on a laugh. God, he just loved Bee to pieces—he loved him.

His thoughts came screeching to a halt with an almost audible sound. He did. God, he really did, he was totally in love with Bumblebee who was an alien robot pretending to be human, and now he had to walk out of here and let him have sex with someone else. Bee who didn't even want to do it, but he would. For Sam. For them.

This was so completely fucked up.

It was all about choices, which ones to make, which ones held really no choice at all. He'd chosen to come here, he'd chosen to stay with Bee, but loving him. That wasn't a choice. It never had been.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them. If they were going to work, he was going to have to allow this. Bumblebee had already made his choice, and he'd chosen Sam, and he could do this. _I can do it for you, Bee._

"I'll just go, then," Sam said calmly, all his churning emotions held in check. He touched Bee's cheek lightly with one finger, trying to convey everything he was feeling in that one touch.

"Actually, I'd rather you stayed."

"What?" Sam and Bumblebee both blinked at him, confused.

"This is for you, right? How can you learn how this works if you aren't here?" Sideswipe moved closer and sat on the bed, kicking off his shoes. They vanished the moment they left his feet, a surreal little reminder that there really was only one human here.

"Er," Sam said intelligently. "I don't think—" _I can watch you two have sex_. Really not. Ratchet was bad enough but Sideswipe was actually in the realm of attractive and it was one thing to think of this as training but way something else for him to watch Bee _liking_ it.

"Well, I need someone to stimulate him while I access his processors," Sideswipe said reasonably. "I could do it myself but I thought you would prefer—"

"I'll do it," Sam said promptly, then he frowned. "Why didn't Ratchet think of that?"

Bumblebee tugged his arm and Sam looked at him, frowning deeper as Bee shook his head frantically. "What—you don't want me here?"

That hurt worse than Sam had thought, that Bee would prefer to do this without him.

Sideswipe cocked his head to the side, like he was listening to something only he could hear. "He doesn't want you to have to perform in front of someone else," Sideswipe said thoughtfully. "He says this is his problem and you shouldn't have to deal with it."

"Fuck that," Sam exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "That's just stupid! I'm already dealing with it. Why do you keep trying to leave me out of this I—" Comprehension dawned and he glared at Bee, who was shrinking beneath his frown. "I don't need protection from this, all right? Let me make my own damned choices! I seriously don't think a little making out in front of Sideswipe is going to give me mental scars!"

"You didn't want the human soldiers to know," Sideswipe said slowly, his expression puzzled. "You wanted to keep this a secret—"

Sam could have slapped himself. "Only because I didn't want them judging us! Bee, humans can get weird about two guys being together. And yeah, yeah, I know you aren't a guy," he cut off Bee's protest, "But you look like a guy and you act like a guy. It's just, people are stupid, sometimes. I'm not ashamed of this, or you, I don't want to hide it. I just—" He took a breath, a little shaken by his own emotions, hovering just beneath the surface and demanding that he touch Bee, tell him but—

He settled for lightly touching Bee's cheek, watching the tremble in his fingers bemusedly. "I guess I was trying to protect you."

Bumblebee caught his hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a kiss into his palm. Then on his fingertips, sucking the tip of one into his mouth and the wet heat made Sam take a sharp breath, jerking as Bee nipped lightly.

"If you could wait a moment." They both startled as Sideswipe scooted closer, resting one hand on the back of Bee's neck. His voice changed, a faint echo coming from beneath it as he spoke in monotone. "Initiating connection. One moment please. complete." Sideswipe relaxed, leaning back against the wall. "All right, go ahead."

Go ahead. Right. Bee let Sam's hand fall away and he stood awkwardly, trying to think of what going ahead would be.

"Go on, kiss him or something," Sideswipe urged impatiently. "I'm tracking his reactions, so…ah!" Startled, Sideswipe gasping when Bee yanked Sam down into his lap and kissed him hungrily, lips and tongue fierce against Sam's mouth and he made it nasty-wet, the need in it so perfect that Sam couldn't help but melt into it and he would have let Bumblebee do just about anything right then, anything.

"Stop." Weakly. Sam barely heard it and Bumblebee was clambering over him, pushing him down into the softness of the bed and jerking his t-shirt up to bite at one of Sam's nipples, too-hard rush of sweet pain and Sam gasped, tipped his head back and God, yes, he'd missed this, wanted it so much, he—"

"Stop, please…stop…" The desperation was so thick in that voice that Sam feebly tried to obey it, pushing Bumblebee away and he went, only to dive lower and bite the hard length of Sam's cock through his jeans, tearing a startled cry from him and he was going to come in his pants, he would have humped Bee's leg if it had been close enough.

"Stop it!" There was the harsh sound of a slap, Bumblebee yanked away from him and shoved onto the floor and…oh, geez, Sideswipe had slipped off the other side of the bed, scrambling away from them until he was pressed into another corner, his eyes wild and fever-bright.

Hesitantly, Sam slid off the bed and took a step towards him, determinately not looking at Bumblebee who was panting at his feet and trying not to die from the hot, sharp pressure in his balls. He reached out to Sideswipe, unthinkingly. "Are you all right?"

"Don't!" Sideswipe flinched, eyes closing tightly and Sam stepped back, wordlessly. Great, now he was breaking two of them.

Minutes ticked by, Sideswipe and Bumblebee both calming while Sam looked at just about anything else in the room, concentrating on not-dying.

"All right," Sideswipe said finally, climbing shakily to his feet. "I think…" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think I've figured out the problem. Bumblebee, you have the most sensitive receptors I've ever felt. That was—" Another breath, slow and deep, "That was remarkable but you're going to have to recalibrate them if you want to be able to make love with Sam."

Make love. Something about that phrase, not mating, not sex, made Sam's stomach glow pleasantly warm.

Bumblebee was nodding thoughtfully, climbing to his feet and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Unfortunately, there is only one way I can think of to do that," Sideswipe said heavily. "I believe Bee and I need to switch roles so that he can calibrate his receptors to mimic the reactions of mine."

"You want me to have sex with you," Sam said dumbly, trying not to hear the squeak in his voice.

Bee leapt to his feet, his hands cutting fiercely through the air and Sideswipe held out his hands in surrender. "If you have any other ideas, I'm open to suggestions."

A silent communication seemed to flow between them and Sideswipe sighed, turning to Sam. "A moment."

He closed his eyes, a faint humming sound vibrating from him and when he spoke again, it sounded eerily like Bumblebee, echoing tinnily.

"Sam, you don't have to do this," His voice was faint, urgent. "I can turn my receptors off when we have sex and—"

"And feel nothing." Sam finished flatly. "No."

Bumblebee's expression combined with the words he'd just spoken only made Sam more determined. "I can do this. If you can deal with having Ratchet trying to…to train you, then I can do this."

"I'm hardly going to throw him down and ravage him, Bee," Sideswipe added dryly. "This isn't like those movies you've been watching on Lifetime. I believe a kiss would be sufficient for the moment."

"Sure, a kiss," Sam said, burying his own uncertainty. This was for Bee and Sideswipe was hardly a drooling pervert.

With obvious reluctance, Bee put a hand on the back of Sideswipe's neck, sifting through the long strands of his hair to find bare skin before he closed his eyes, lips moving silently as he linked.

"All right, Sam, just a kiss."

Right. Sam stepped forward, tipping his head up and wasn't it nice that Bee was almost his height, they didn't have this whole neck straining thing and—Sideswipe's mouth was very gentle, cooler than Bumblebee's and he parted his lips unthinkingly at the damp probe of Sideswipe's tongue, pressing his own against it in a slow writhe and it wasn't too bad, the heat still aching in his groin slowly sparking to life again because it wasn't Bee but Sam wasn't dead and there was a hand at the base of his spine, pulling him against the lithe line of Sideswipe's body. There was a hard line of hot pressure against his belly; Sam barely registered it, intent on the mouth moving softly against his own, and it filtered through slowly that it was Sideswipe's erection, God, he was hard and did they just react like humans, helplessly, or was it a mimic, was it intentional and—

"Enough," Sideswipe pulled away, going so far as to step backwards and he shook off Bee's hand, both of them blinking like the light was too bright. "I think that's enough for today, we've made a little progress."

He was actually backing towards the door, Sam saw, his expression shaken and it made guilt swell up in him, Sideswipe was only trying to help and he was obviously upset by all of this.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, trying to be as gentle as he could with his cock pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. "I mean, you don't have to do this, you just seem…uncomfortable." And that was saying something, considering that Sam had just survived his first bizarre three-way kiss. Bumblebee made a soft noise of agreement, eyes darkened with concern.

"I am," Sideswipe said, jagged humor in his voice. "But only because it's been a very long time since I've done this. Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"I'm fine," Sideswipe stressed, but his steps backward told another story. "I'll come by again tomorrow and we'll see how much progress we've made." The door slammed hard behind him as he fled out of it, leaving Bee and Sam to stand there, confused and a little worried.

"Is he all right? I mean, you guys are old friends, right, I –ooof!" The bed suddenly beneath his back slapped the breath out of him and Sam barely had time to regain it before Bumblebee had his pants halfway down his thighs, jerking his boxers after them and the sudden relief of pressure against his crotch made him gasp anew. "What are you—we can't," he tried, faltering as Bumblebee looked up at him and the expression on his face, the darkness in his eyes made Sam fall silent, let his head loll back on the bed and if Bumblebee needed this, who was he to argue.

The first hot suck against the tip of his cock made him strangle out a cry, his hands clenching in Bee's hair and Jesus, god, the wet slide of his tongue, glossily-slick against the underside made him arch up, pushing into that perfect, damp heat. Riding the hot pressure of that tongue, obeying the hands on his hips that urged him to thrust into it, over and over until the sweet heat of it tingled up his spine, blanking his thoughts completely as he arched back on the bed and came, shivering helplessly at the feel of Bumblebee swallowing around him.

It wasn't quite fair, Sam thought muzzily, that he wasn't going to be able to reciprocate. Unfair orgasms and maybe he should tell Bumblebee to keep track of what he owed for when they managed to work things out. For the moment, Bee seemed content to crawl up and flop down next to him, nuzzling soft kisses against Sam's neck and ear.

One hand was still curled around the limp bulk of his cock, gentle, so gentle against sensitive skin but Sam wasn't so oblivious that he didn't get the implication.

Mine, that hand said, starkly.

"Yours," Sam mouthed it against the top of Bumblebee's head, surely too quiet to be heard but Bee snuggled closer to him anyway, silent weight next to him that Sam still understood, completely.

-finis-


	8. This Body Electric

This Body Electric  
by Keelywolfe

* * *

He hadn't expected this.

Oh, Sideswipe had known he would feel something. Bumblebee's problem was rare but not completely unheard of and while Sideswipe was far from the most experienced in the sexual rituals of organics, he did know which parts generally went where and why they did it. Bumblebee, he had been expecting. Some tiny, secret part of him had even been agreeable; old friends make decent lovers, even when it is only for a temporary convenience.

He hadn't expected Bumblebee's receptors to feel like liquid flame flowing over his own, the link between them throbbing with sensations that Sideswipe had been helpless against until he'd torn himself away physically, the jagged edge of their connection hanging between them until they'd managed to close it down.

He certainly hadn't expected the little human to be so utterly delightful, the unfamiliar taste of a human mouth bringing back memories that he had closed off a long, long time ago. Memories that he had set aside but could never purge, not without losing large pieces of himself in the process. That was the price an Autobot paid for their sentience. Sideswipe had some vague memory of Before, when his spark had yet to warm his chest cavity and it made him shudder with coldness. Better to be dead like Jazz than to return to that state of unbeing.

So in a fit of panic at this unexpected development, Sideswipe had simply fled, sensors still churning, and he walked quickly through the compound, almost jogging, trying to get to the building that housed his robotic form as quickly as he could.

He could have dissolved the holographic sensor array there and perhaps it would have been better if he had. Better to let these receptors die away and return his focus back into his mainframe. His reluctance to let the sensations go was unwise but it had been so, so long and he...

No.

With great care, he shifted those memories back again, keeping them from surfacing. Now was not the time to integrate them back into his main system files. Not yet.

A faint trickle of rain began to fall and had he been in a more philosophical mood he might have thought the sky was weeping tears for him in the human fashion, leaking precious water and washing away the dust from metal bodies. He let himself absorb some of the water into his hair and clothing, felt the trickling dampness against receptors that were still razor-sensitive.

It was fascinating, really, that Bumblebee would be so responsive but it did make its own sort of sense. He would need to be for his duties. Sensitive to every aspect of what he was trying to discover. That it was useful for mating purposes was really only an additional benefit.

The door to his personal quarters creaked slight as he pushed it open, peering through the darkened room at his car form. It shone mellowly in the dim light, the red a perfect match to his simulated hair. He'd rinsed off the dust from his earlier patrol before he'd gone to see Sam and Bee, and now he touched the hood with his hands, shivering a little at the doubled sensation. The sensors of his human form were more sensitive yet and he focused on them, dimming back his main form until he only felt the metal beneath his hands. It was easy to lie down on the hood, crawling up the slickness and sprawling out on himself, cool metal that warmed beneath his cheek.

He might have stayed there all night, drifting through a peaceful cycle of feeling, but a voice behind him startled him, nearly sending him to the ground in his haste to sit up.

"Well, your little training session seems to have done you some good, eh, _brother_?" Sunstreaker's holo was leaning against the door, an unconscious mockery of how Sideswipe had stood at Sam's door.

"Don't," his voice sounded weak and Sideswipe shored it up, making it stronger. "Don't do that."

"Why not? If you choose to use vulgar human terminology to express what we are, why shouldn't I?"

"It's the closest term I could come up with. Ratchet agreed that it is appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Sunstreaker seemed to taste the word, drawing it out over the mimic of his human vocal cords. "I'm sure you want the word brother to be most appropriate, don't you."

Sideswipe watched him step closer, warily. He should dissolve the hologram, let the receptors die and go back into his robot form. It was safer that way, and he could already hear a semblance of Sunstreaker's angry shrieks in an old voice file.

But he stayed, out of stubbornness or stupidity, who was to say? The allspark had given them free will, have given them choice, but no one said those choices had to be good. Sideswipe had been drawn to him, again, ever since they came here. Dropping out of the clean coldness of space and back into the blood-heat of anthropomorphisms.

Sunstreaker had gone through a great deal of effort to perfect his humanoid form already. Long, dark hair, dark eyes, the angular lines of the very structure he had formed spoke of human beauty and Sideswipe had accepted it reluctantly, their shared spark forcing him to take the form that Sunstreaker had created before him. As he walked closer, Sideswipe could see the litheness in Sunstreaker's step, another testament to his creativity in making holos. Bumblebee had refused to teach Sunstreaker anything but he'd taught Sideswipe plenty and he'd been helpless against sharing what he'd learned. Bee never spoke of it; Sideswipe didn't know if he understood or if he had just forgiven him. Sideswipe was afraid to ask.

He flinched as his brother _(not brother)_ rested his hands on either side on him, fingertips lightly caressing his hood and Sideswipe was dimly relieved that he couldn't feel it, even as the softness of imitation breath dusted over his face.

"Don't think I didn't notice how eager you were to help them," Softly, almost into his ear as Sunstreaker leaned in.

"Ratchet came to me."

"I know. He considered me as well. That would have been amusing, don't you think?"

Sideswipe closed his eyes and willed himself to have the strength to put a stop to this before it began. "I think that I would have been picking up body parts."

"I could tear that pathetic excuse for a 'bot apart with my bare hands."

That, he doubted, but Sideswipe knew better than to argue the point. Disagreement in words often led to his brother trying to prove himself with hands and guns. "I doubt Prime would approve. They let you stay because of me as it is."

Sunstreaker made a noise of disdain, reeling back to glare at him. "They let me stay because I'm the best shooter they have and I can take on any piece of Decepticon trash that comes my way."

It was easier to think with Sunstreaker further away. "Honestly, I always thought that you'd have made a brilliant Decepticon."

That made him laugh, bitter humor in his eyes. Expressive eyes, almost as good as Bumblebee's. "Perhaps. But instead I'm here, for you."

"Not for me."

His expression hardened and he caught Sideswipe's chin in one hand, tipped it up painfully. "Isn't it always for you?"

There was no answer to that, not one that wouldn't have been a lie and Sunstreaker was one that he could never lie to. No matter how much he wished he could.

He flinched when Sunstreaker leaned in again, but he stopped inches from Sideswipe's face, his false breath damp and warm. "What did you let them do to you?" Sunstreaker whispered, his eyes searching Sideswipe's.

"You think I'd kiss and tell." The hand on his chin tightened painfully.

"Yes. I do."

"Nothing happened," Sideswipe said reluctantly. "I linked with Bumblebee, that's about it."

"Liar. I can smell him on you."

Sideswipe jerked away, crawling backwards on his own hood until he was nearly on the windshield. "You could have done with about a hundred more years of space travel."

"And you shut me out of your processors the entire time. Didn't miss me, did you, _brother_?"

"No." A lie, an obvious lie.

"But that's all right." Sunstreaker stepped away, tossing his long hair over his shoulder in a neatly practiced move and Sideswipe had to resist the urge to reach out to him. "If you don't want to play, perhaps I'll play with something a little better." His holo morphed, shaping itself into an admittedly brilliant reconstruction of Bumblebee's current one before fading back.

Sideswipe was off the hood before he'd considered what he was doing, grabbing Sunstreaker by the front of his shirt and jerking that grinning face up to his own. "You leave them alone!"

"Well, I need someone to play with."

Redness was throbbing in his sensor vision, barely contained anger. "You wouldn't dare."

"Now we're going to debate what I would or wouldn't do?" Sunstreaker tilted his head, letting the silken spill of his hair fall over Sideswipe's hands. "You tell me, brother, what wouldn't I do?"

"Bumblebee would kill you. Optimus would kill you."

"You wouldn't." He tipped his head up and licked Sideswipe's mouth, wet against his lips and he flinched back, refusing to let them part. "You couldn't. I'd do it," Coldness slipped into his voice mod, warningly. "You know I would."

He would. "Please, don't do this." Even as part of him rejoiced. Yes, make me do this, yes, please give me an excuse...

"Then _give me something!_" Sunstreaker hissed.

It was too easy to kiss him, the memory of Sam still fresh in his mind and his brother tasted nothing like a human, nothing but the electric sweetness sparking between them and he walked forward, pushing Sunstreaker in front of him until they found his hood, sprawling down on it as he licked and bit Sunstreaker's mouth, wishing he could draw blood.

It would be so much easier if he could just distance himself from this, if one step into willingness didn't throw him bodily into it, his spark craning towards its opposite, like magnets drawn helpless towards each other.

He wondered if this was what Optimus had felt near Megatron.

Words were lost between them now and that suited Sideswipe just fine. Easier to jerk his brother up and flip him over, easier to sweep his hands over suddenly bare skin, perfectly pale skin and he could move Sunstreaker into any position that he liked, force flexibility that a true organic could never have.

He slipped a hand beneath one of Sunstreaker's knees, forcing it up onto his hood and his brother obeyed willingly, letting him do as he liked. It was always easy to get compliance from Sunstreaker, false acquiescence because Sideswipe knew this was just what he'd wanted all along. Lining up his cock and pushing inside, too hard, his over-sensitized receptors howling with sensations that made warning lights flicker in his vision and in his true form, his spark was throbbing, mimicking a human heartbeat, straining for a connection that couldn't be made in this form.

"I hate you," Sideswipe mouthed against the bare shoulder beneath him, thrusting up into tight heat and listening to the hissed profanities of the being beneath him.

"Not nearly as much as you hate yourself. " Gaspy laughter beneath him, Sunstreaker arching his hips into each too-hard, too-brutal thrust and had he been human, Sideswipe would have truly been hurting him. He wound an arm beneath Sunstreaker's head and pulled it back, roughly mouthing his ear and he could feel sparks building between them, an approaching connection, the only one that Sunstreaker would allow and he bit his lip when it came, stifling the shriek that would have echoed through the room. Sunstreaker didn't bother and Sideswipe muffled it instead with his own hand and for one pure moment their connection was in perfect synchronicity.

It was after, when they were sprawled damply on his hood together, Sunstreaker absently rubbing one bare foot against the warmed metal, that tenderness came. Gentle touches on skin that felt bruised, regardless of visual appearance. It seemed like hours before Sunstreaker broke the silence, as he always did.

"So how were they? Soft? Pretty?" Dark eyes weighed him sardonically. "They didn't seem to satisfy you very much."

"I told you, nothing happened. He didn't so much as take off his shoes."

"But he will." Bitter certainty.

"Please, don't even try to play the jealousy card with me. You whore yourself out to any organic you bump into."

Soft laughter, "But they are never quite enough are they, brother?" Sideswipe had no answer to that and he watched as Sunstreaker stretched and yawned, hopping up as his clothes reappeared.

"You'll leave them alone." He didn't allow it to be a question.

"Of course, when have I ever lied to you?" Sunstreaker's smile was less than encouraging and he paused at the door long enough to call over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

Sideswipe stayed where he was a little longer, listening to the renewed throb of rain against the roof. And then he let his holo fade away, dissolving the receptors that had touched three different beings in so short a time and returning his focus to his main processors where he could bury this memory away, hiding it from himself with all the others.

-finis-


	9. The Unconscious Mind

The Unconscious Mind  
by Keelywolfe

* * *

This past year Sam had had to do some serious readjustment of certain perspectives. For example, he wasn't particularly religious - his parents had celebrated Santa Claus - but he'd pretty much considered life to be creatures with a DNA pattern. Now he'd had to shift that idea to apply to walking, talking robots who were actually more alive than some people he had met. They certainly had better taste in music. Not too long ago he'd had to change his perception of the word sex. Sex now included holograms and robots; cars had long since been added to the formula, although he was more used to the idea of being in them at the time.

Now he had to add a new definition to the word kinky. Having a robotic hologram talk you through giving a blowjob to another hologram? Sam wasn't sure the word kinky was strong enough to hold the weight of that, but it was going to have to do.

"Slower, Sam…yes, that's it." Softly, close to his right ear as Sideswipe leaned lightly against him while he linked with Bee. Sam didn't have to look at him to know he was watching, gauging Bumblebee's reaction to every tiny movement he made. His jaw was aching a little and the hand he had wrapped around the base of Bee's cock to hold it steady was slick with spit because he couldn't quite get the hang of not drooling but every tiny sigh and squirm from Bee made it so, so worth it.

Bee shuddered a little, spreading his legs wider and Sam was sprawled between them, the silky soft skin of one thigh beneath his free hand. He stroked it absently, felt muscles jump beneath the tender skin. It was the first time he'd had a chance to really explore Bumblebee's holo and he marveled at every detail, the smattering of freckles that broke up the pale expanse of skin, the light dusting of hair on his belly and legs, fine blond and softer than a human's but Sam loved it, loved nuzzling that little line that trailed down Bee's belly. Better at being a human than a human would be, he thought with some amusement, and he tongued the tiny slit at the head, and felt the thigh beneath his hand tremble as Bee drew a sharp breath.

"Careful, that's too much, easy," Sideswipe's voice was thick, heavy with emotion he didn't need to name. Sam had long since learned that linking to Bumblebee gave Sideswipe a secondhand experience of this. It was weird, almost freaky, and Sam tried not to think too much about the total funk factor of giving what was the equivalent of a dual beejay since just giving them at all was still pretty new on his list of acceptable sexual maneuvers.

Graduating up to third base was a sweet accomplishment on its own, getting to this point without Sideswipe backing them off, and his own arousal was a sharp pulse of warmth in his belly; they'd been at this for hours, Sideswipe venturing back in easily like his discomfort of yesterday had been forgotten. Whatever the problem was, he'd thrown himself into teaching today, telling Sam where to touch and how, and it was probably wrong that it made the curling heat in his blood that much hotter.

The low noise Bee made was nothing like human, harsh like gears grating and one his hands caught at Sam's hair, tugging almost painfully, insistently as he tried to arch deeper into dark heat of Sam's mouth.

"He's ready for it," Soft breath against his ear. "Let him, Sam, give it to him now. Can you suck a little harder for him?"

God, he could, tightening his grip around the base and sucking Bee deeper, let his tongue curl beneath his fingers, licking at the edges of his hand. He wasn't quite choking, swallowing against the thickness and Bee _shook_ under him.

"That's it, Bumblebee," Sideswipe said coaxingly, moving up to where Bee had his head thrown back against the pillows, blond strands clinging sweatily to his cheeks. "That's it, back off from the link and just…back off." He sat up abruptly. "Sam, stop he's—"

It was too late before Sam even had a chance to let him slip away, the tremors shaking through Bee as his body tightened, his hands holding Sam in place until they went completely slack. Sam shook them off, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he scooted back and looked at Sideswipe unhappily.

"It's all right, Sam," Sideswipe said. He brushed Bee's hair out of his face as he lay immobile, his systems waiting to power back up. "He's made a great deal of progress today. I expected there to be a few problems before he found the right configuration."

"Did he hurt himself?" He couldn't stop thinking about what Ratchet had told him. _Memory loss_.

"No, he's unharmed," Sideswipe said gently. "Ratchet is correct that an unexpected shutdown can be detrimental but if there is a capacitor to act as an energy reserve, it prevents any damage. That's why I'm here."

"But—"

"It's going to be all right! Both of you should relax a little," Sideswipe laughed. "I told you, this is just a wiring problem."

Both of them startled when Bumblebee smacked Sideswipe on the back of the head, neither of them having noticed he'd come back to himself.

"Yes, yes, it's not my wiring," he said contritely, rubbing the back of his head. "I think that's enough for today, Optimus is going to be back soon and we both have duties to attend to."

"Oh," Sam shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the dull throb between his legs. "I didn't know Optimus was gone."

"Some transporting issue." Sideswipe hopped up and for the first time Sam noticed that he must have severed his link from Bumblebee before he'd gone offline because he had an obvious problem of his own. He saw where Sam was looking and smiled ruefully. "Don't worry about that. I'm sure Bumblebee doesn't need my assistance to help you with yours."

The arms that circled him and pulled him back into Bee's lap stated eloquently that he didn't. It didn't stop Sideswipe from leaning down and pressing a quick kiss against Sam's forehead. "Behave!" he called over his shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, Sam had a chance to learn exactly how little help Bumblebee needed in giving pleasure, and it looked whatever duties Bee was supposed to be doing were going to have to wait.

It was well over an hour later when Sam finally managed to crawl shakily out of the bed, sweat still drying prickly-cool on his skin. Bee had left him there with a bruising kiss and a wave before he'd gone off for the day, not looking a damned bit like he'd just spent the better part of an hour sucking cock like a freaking Hoover. He could probably suck the shine off a trailer hitch and recalling how many Autobots had hitches suddenly made that idea a lot less attractive.

He'd missed breakfast by about three hours and lunch was on hold until he had a long, long shower. Right now he smelled like about week's worth of wet dreams.

The little light on his computer was blinking insistently and Sam stopped long enough to click it, frowning when he saw who it was from. Not yet, not today. Not after that sex marathon with his mouth still aching a little and his teeth begging for a toothbrush. It took longer than it might have for him to clean up and Sam was blaming whoever it was that had designed his lovely shower. Good for all kinds of muscle aches. Today seemed very much like a t-shirt and jeans day, balls to whoever didn't like saluting the raggedy savior of the world.

He took the time to comb his hair and then his stomach would be denied no longer. There would be food or soon he'd be chewing off his own limbs. There were no more than a half dozen soldiers between him and the canteen which made the tiny guilty twinge he felt at dressing down ease a little. Hell, most of them were just in fairly casual gear. It wasn't like the president was going to show up for inspection, at least not this week. Come to think of it, he might want to make sure Bee gave him a heads up if that was ever going to happen-

The sight of a yellow Camaro tearing around the corner before he could even walk in the door startled him and he blinked in confusion as Bee transformed and stood next to him, his holo form shining quickly into existence. He looked…agitated and Sam couldn't help looking around, half expecting a fleet of Decepticons to fall from the sky but wouldn't Bee have just grabbed him then and -oh, my god.

It was almost astonishing to think once he would have been delighted to see her walking towards him, dark anger shading her lovely eyes. Optimus was walking carefully behind Mikaela, letting her lead the way on her path that was heading straight towards him.

Dimly, he heard the canteen door open behind him, heard two soldiers pause in their conversation as they noticed the gorgeous young woman stopping in front of their resident hero. And slapping him hard enough across the face that his ears began ringing.

"A letter," Mikaela said, slowly and deliberately. "You broke up with me in a letter. No mention of the fact that your entire family was just going to up and vanish, or that Decepticons tried to kill you." Her voice rose steadily, a few more interested people appearing, eager to see the excitement of the day. "Do you have any fucking idea how I felt when I stopped by your house that day and everything was just gone! And then I get a letter in the mail, oh, sorry about that! You are the most cowardly piece of shit boyfriend that any person has ever had and believe me, I've had some prize winners, but you! Don't you people have jobs to do somewhere?"

Her shout startled the growing circle of soldiers who all abruptly decided that they did have places to be that didn't involve gorgeous angry women with murder in their eyes. Optimus had long since deserted them for safer climes. All Sam could do was stand there because she was so completely right and he'd earned every shitty insult she could throw his way.

"You complete asshole!" Mikaela whispered and threw her arms around him. He caught her automatically, wrapping his arms around her as she shook, tears starting and leaking warmly through his shirt. Guilt was a thick, bitter taste at the back of his throat that he couldn't swallow away and God, yes, she had deserved better than a letter and he'd known he was a complete shithead for doing it that way. He'd known it and done it anyway because he'd never expected this confrontation.

_We reap what we sow!_ His mother's cheerful voice in that back of his mind and that was another layer of guilt, that blinking mail icon sitting there accusingly on his desktop.

Sam buried his face into Mikaela's shoulder and took a deep breath, fighting back his own tears because there was no way he was going to be pussy enough to cry in front of all these camo boys.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her, barely a croak. "I really am."

"Yeah, I bet," Mikaela said, pulling away and swiping at her cheeks. She looked over Sam's shoulder and gave a watery smile. "Hey, Bumblebee, the new gear looks great."

God, he'd completely forgotten Bee was standing there, his hands in his pockets and looking ill at ease "How did you know that was Bumblebee?"

"Please, who do you think helped him pick this out?" She flicked at Bee's blond hair, tousling just enough that it fell into artful chaos. How it was possible she could make him any prettier, Sam wasn't sure, but it was working. Mikaela walked around Bee, studying him carefully. "The pants are tight enough but the shirt could use a little more and maybe something sleeveless?"

Bee's shirt promptly shifted into something a little less Fruit of the Loom and a lot more Adidas, the sleeves shrinking back as it tightened across his chest, defining the lines of muscle. It was difficult not to stare but he supposed he could blame it on the wonder of holographic wardrobe changes.

"Uh huh, uh huh, sweet, maybe some ink here?" She touched his upper arm and a band of odd symbols circled his bicep. "Nice, what is that?"

"It's Cybertronian." Sam said, squinting at it. "I've seen it before but I don't know what it says."

Bee shrugged a little, gesturing his helplessness.

"You can't talk again? Oh, that sucks!"

Bumblebee nodded sourly, slipping his hands back in his pockets. Dressed like that, he looked a little more punk, slim and pretty with his hair falling in his eyes and…Sam swallowed thickly and looked away. Damned teenage hormones.

"It's pretty good," Mikaela decided. "But how about blue eyes?"

"I like them green." It slipped out before he could think about it, wincing a little mentally but fuck, he did like them green. A wardrobe was one thing but this was how Bumblebee had come to him and—only Mikaela had seen him first, hadn't she. She'd helped him design this.

The look he was giving Sam now, he couldn't quite decipher. Soberly watching him, his eyes still green, and Mikaela was touching him, poking at his clothes and ears, ready to change even more.

"You still haven't mentioned what you're doing here," Sam blurted, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. It probably wouldn't look good if he yanked her away from Bumblebee, but she was talking about piercings now.

"Maybe just a diamond stud or a gold hoop," Mikaela fingered Bee's ear thoughtfully before glancing at Sam. "Optimus pretty much swooped in and took off with me. He said you all figured I'd be all right but there was a lot of Decepticon activity in the area and they finally decided I'd be safer here." She shrugged. "It's not like my stepmom is going to miss me and besides, how often to you get a knight in shining stainless steel to rescue you?"

"More often than you'd think," Sam smiled a little, feebly, staring at her fingertips still rubbing Bee's ear. "Why don't we take a look around and get you settled in a little? I'm assuming Optimus dropped you off here and possibly showed you where you're sleeping."

"I wanted to see you first. Asshole." She slapped him in the middle of the chest, hard enough to make him grunt.

"So let's show you around then."

Bumblebee stepped forward, nodding eagerly, his eyes literally glowing with his enthusiasm, and somehow, the idea of him being around Mikaela was more than he could take today.

"Didn't Optimus want you to do…something?" Sam gestured vaguely. "Whatever it was Sideswipe was talking about?"

He went still, the light in his eyes fading and his nod was reluctant.

"Always work to do, yeah?" Mikaela said, and she hugged Bee quickly, giving him a little kiss on the cheek that he accepted bemusedly, giving Sam one last look before he stepped backwards against his robot form and faded, giving them a much larger and very mechanical wave before he transformed and drove away.

Mikaela turned to him, bouncing on her toes in a way that would have made his eyes bug out not all that long ago. Weird how quickly some things changed. "Well, come on, show me where they keep you stashed in this place."

Sam managed to persuade her to wait long enough for him to grab a quick sandwich, munching it down on their way back to his quarters. He watched her poke through his meager possessions, not even having a secret box to stow away from her although he'd quickly yanked the blankets up over the sheets.

"So this is your room?" Mikaela asked, unenthused. "It doesn't seem very you. No posters or books or anything."

"They've got all my stuff here in storage," He flopped down on the bed, sitting up with his back against the wall. "But I'm supposed to get a new place soon so I'm not really worried about it. I'd have to pack it all up again and I don't really need any of it at the moment." Not with most of his time being taken up with holographic orgies.

"Yeah, a bed is pretty much all you really need." Something in her voice made him look up, just in time for her to kiss him. Too shocked to pull away and she tasted like cherry lip-gloss and Juicy Fruit, her tongue small and soft against his lower lip. He pushed her away, gently, before she could deepen it. "Mikaela…"

She'd already stepped back, a sad little smile on her face. "Yeah, that's about what I figured. It wasn't just the Decepticons that had you sending me a paper brush-off."

Again, that guilt, twisting bitterly in his stomach. "I'm sorry."

"Don't, please. It's okay. I sort of knew, you know? You were so distant."

Me, he almost said, and didn't because hadn't he been? He had, reflecting her distance he'd thought but that wasn't really the truth. Mikaela had been someone he'd wanted before he'd had any clue what he did want. She'd been an abstract of desire that he'd built up in his mind but he'd really known next to nothing about her. Once he'd learned, the heat had melted into something gentler, a perfect friend but not what he wanted in a girlfriend. In fact, it was starting to seem like he wasn't really interested in a girlfriend at all.

With Bumblebee it was so different…had he been falling for Bee even back then? Not physically, of course, not then, but everything about him, from his fondness for obscenity to his gentle nature. And hadn't Sam just about seduced him the very moment he found out that he could? Not that Bee had needed much seducing. They'd just about fallen into each other. It made him wonder how long Bee had wanted him.

Mikaela had resumed her exploration, poking idly at his computer. "Looks like you have mail."

Sam half-stood, reaching a hand out to her automatically. "Don't. It's from my parents."

"They aren't here?" She sounded surprised.

"No. I had the government hide them and give them new names and stuff." The growing horror on her face made him stammer on. "They'll be safer that way, you know? Away from me."

"Safer?" Mikaela repeated. "Sam, that's probably the most horrible thing I've ever heard. Your mom was so nice and you just had them shuffled off to…do you even know where? And you aren't reading their e-mails?"

"We had an argument," Sam mumbled and somehow that sounded very inssufficent in the face of her astonished horror.

"Oh, well, that's just fine then. You had an argument. Sam, you're their only kid and you might as well be dead for all the good it's doing them."

"I just want them to be safe," Sam protested but the memory of his mother's tears was making his own eyes ache and he hadn't wanted to think about this today but his parents didn't have the same option.

Mikaela shook her head. "I lost my dad a while ago and I would give anything for him to be here. And I know he wouldn't give a damn about the danger. Do you think your mom and dad do? How happy can they be with a new life a new house and no son?"

"You think I made a mistake?" Already knew the answer and it hurt, a bone-deep ache and if a person's soul could bleed, Sam's was making a pretty good effort in that direction.

"I think you had good intentions," Mikaela corrected gently. "Call them, see what they want."

"Not today. I think I've had all the shocks I can take today."

Mikaela looked at him doubtfully. "Sam…"

"I will, tomorrow, okay? I promise."

"I know you will. Your mom was way too nice for me to let you do this to her." Mikaela turned away from the computer and grabbed his hand, tugging him to his feet. "Come on, enough of this. Let's check this place out! I bet you haven't even been in half the buildings."

"I think I've only been in about four."

She rolled her eyes. "How can you not be exploring the giant robot city? What do you do with your time?"

"I—" Have wild sex with my car. Yeah, that was going to be said just about never. "I've been busy," Sam said, lamely.

"Oh, please. Come on, let's go!" She tugged his arm impatiently.

"I'm not sure if this is a good—"

"Come on!"

As sneaky teenage espionage trips went, this one was pretty unsuccessful. So far, he and Mikaela had managed to sneak into three storage warehouses, one human barrack which they had barely escaped from due to the skimpiness of Mikaela's shirt and one building that had contained a lot of electronic beeping things that they mutually decided to avoid.

It might have been boring if Mikaela hadn't been so completely dedicated to finding something interesting.

"What about this one, have you been in here?"

Sam sighed. "It's not the canteen, it's not the infirmary, and it's not my room. So, no, I haven't."

"Have you done nothing but play World of Warcraft since you got here?" She slipped through the door, barely waiting for Sam to follow. Another warehouse from the looks of it, boxes stacked neatly on racks.

"I haven't logged in since—mrph!"

Mikaela's hand cut off his furious whisper, her eyes wide and shocked in the dim light. He had to squint through the dimness to see, crouching down to peer through a crack in the boxes to see—

Sideswipe, he knew that face, that long hair, and Sam knew that expression, too. Drawn tight with need, his lower lip caught between his teeth and the noises he was making, base and low, made Sam's pants feel distinctly tighter, almost as pretty as Bumblebee and the dark head between his legs, bobbing up and down in a distinct rhythm and his hand twined tightly into the dark tendrils and oh, my sweet god—

He grabbed Mikaela's arm frantically, dragging her backwards and they both stumbled through the door, shutting it quietly and Sam kept going, walking determinedly, dragging Mikaela behind him until they were far enough away that his nerves stopped screaming at him to take a powder and get hell away from here. They ducked behind another building, both of them panting for breath as they leaned against the metal siding.

Mikaela's eyes were saucer wide, a rim of white visible around her irises. "They were…they were…"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, still trying to process what he'd seen. And who he'd seen. "Why does this keep happening to me!" he burst out, slamming a fist against the wall behind him.

Mikaela stared at him, blinking. "This has happened to you before?"

"Not them, but yeah!"

"And you said you hadn't been around! Who did you see last time?"

"I…uh…it doesn't matter. This is so much more wrong, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are brothers!"

That made her frown, confused. "How can robots be brothers? It's not like they have the same mom or something."

"I have no idea but they are! Something has got to be wrong, Sideswipe wouldn't do that unless Sunstreaker was forcing him."

"Not to diss your theory there, but he didn't look all that upset. Man, that was hot."

Sam stared at her speechlessly.

"What?" Defensively. "I can't think two guys are hot?"

"Yes, but, I mean…"

"You know, that's prejudice right there! It's no wonder that the gay community can't get a decent foothold in society with attitudes like that."

"Wha…I'm not prejudiced!"

"You just said you don't think that two guys would be hot together!" She jabbed an accusing finger into his chest.

"I do so!"

She stopped. "You do?"

That was a subject that needed changing. "Look, it's Sunstreaker! He's an asshole!"

"A hot one." She looked at him appraisingly. "So you do think two guys are hot."

Sam scrubbed a hand over his head and really wished he'd just taken her to the rec center. A few torturous hours of DDR would be so much better than this. "I need to find Bumblebee; I've got to talk to him about this."

Not that he had any idea where Bumblebee was but he knew exactly who to ask. Ratchet always knew entirely too much about the whereabouts of others.

"That's not an answer!" Mikaela called after him before she jogged up next to him, eyeing him suspiciously.

"One normal day, that's all I ask," Sam muttered, walking determinedly towards the infirmary. "Just one. Is that so much?" He directed the question at the sky, blue and innocent above him. It chose not to answer, which was just as well, and Sam led Mikaela on a march to the infirmary and from there, who knew. This yellow brick road didn't seem to have a set finish.

-finis-


	10. Subliminal Messages

Subliminal Messages

by Keelywolfe

* * *

Walking towards the infirmary made Sam feel like he was returning to the source of all evil. Except the trouble had sort of started back at his house and in Bumblebee's backseat, so that wasn't entirely accurate but Sam hadn't known that there even was trouble until he'd stumbled over his holographic boyfriend getting hot and heavy with the local medic so yeah, he could blame the infirmary for the larger percentage of his problems today.

Or just, you know, blame Ratchet. But he needed a favor from Ratchet so that was out.

He'd since learned there were two entrances to the infirmary, the human side and the Autobot side, and it seemed better to err on the side of the Autobots. Bumblebee was the only one he'd seen stay regularly in his holo form and he figured everyone but the human contingency knew why that was.

It was stupid to be nervous but he still was, the sight of Sideswipe with Sunstreaker still churning in the back of his mind. Right now his focus was completely on finding Bumblebee and wasn't it sort of stupid that they didn't have, like, wrist communicators a 'la Star Trek or even cell phones.

"Technical advances, my ass," Sam muttered under his breath, opening the door hesitantly. Mikaela looked at him oddly but followed him into the garage. None of the overhead lights were on but sunlight was streaming in through the windows and he could see Ratchet parked on the far side.

Before he could decided whether it was better to just walk up and chance getting squashed by a startled Autobot or to announce themselves from a safe distance, Ratchet spoke up, his voice echoing mellowly in the large room.

"I'm busy in the other room at the moment, Sam, so if this isn't an emergency, could you please return later," Ratchet said curtly. "Three humans suffered injuries from a training exercise and require sutures."

"We're just looking for Bumblebee," Mikaela said, stepping forward. Not that she had any idea why it was so important to Sam to find Bee right now, but at least she was going along with it. And she'd dropped the whole guy-on-guy hotness issue, thank you, god.

"Bumblebee is busy performing his own duties." Never had Ratchet sounded so sharp to him and Sam flinched, more than ready to give this a pass. There was a fair chance Bumblebee was already looking for him anyway; he always seemed to know whenever Sam was upset.

"However, if you're that intent on locating him, I'm sure he's in the main administrative building. If he isn't with you, he is hardly anywhere else," Ratchet added sourly.

"Main administration?"

"It's the only place he can hook up directly to the mainframe. Largest building on the east side of the city, now, if you please?"

"Sorry," Sam murmured, backing out the door, Mikaela directly behind him.

"He was cheerful today," Mikaela commented, hopping off the stairs. "Who pissed on his energon cubes?"

"He's been under a lot of stress lately," Sam said, not entirely sure that was the cause. Whatever Ratchet's issues were, he didn't feel up to dealing with them right now. "East is...uh...that way?"

Mikaela squinted. "Unless the sun has started rising in the north, then no. C'mon, Galahad, the grail is this way."

A little sheepishly, Sam fell into step beside her, through the maze of buildings and towers that slowly cleared the way to an enormous building surrounded by satellite dishes. There were people going in and out of doors, some in uniforms and some not, carrying boxes and briefcases and all of it was at the top of a long flight of stairs. They stared up at it dismally and Sam's feet were aching a little in his old sneakers and Mikaela was wearing sandals, and it was hot and dusty outside. Right now that building really could have had a grail in it and all they'd want was a bottled water.

"All I can say is he better offer us a ride home after we find him," Mikaela huffed as they slowly made their way up the stairs.

"I'd take a ride home from Barricade at this point," Sam said, wheezing. Maybe he really did need to spend a little more time with the military guys.

He changed his mind immediately when one of them stopped them at the top of the stairs, armed with a clipboard. "I'm sorry, this is a restricted area."

"I'm Sam Witwicky," he tried. What the hell, it got him salutes everywhere else in Autobot city. This particular soldier must not have gotten the memo because he looked unimpressed.

"We're trying to find Bumblebee," Mikaela put in. "He's a robot, a yellow one. Or maybe he's a blond guy; I'm not sure what body he's wearing today."

If anything, he looked less interested. "If you don't have clearance, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Now."

"It's all right, Sergeant," A quiet voice came from behind them and they turned to see an unfamiliar Autobot standing there. Not much taller than Bumblebee, he was white with red head gear and on his door wings Sam could see the word 'police'. "They may have access to the facility."

Obviously disgruntled, he stepped aside and allowed them inside. The Autobot walked slowly behind him, ducking his head a little under the enormous door. Sam hesitated inside, looking at the half-dozen corridors. Had it really been that important to tell Bumblebee about this right now?

_Sideswipe's pained expression, his hair falling over his shoulders as he tipped his head back and shuddered, his fist clenching in Sunstreaker's hair as he..._

Okay, yeah. This totally required instant discussion.

"Samuel Witwicky." The Autobot who'd helped was smiling down at them slightly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Just Sam is fine."

"Just Sam, then," he agreed. "I'm Prowl. I'm sure you're looking for Bumblebee. He's this way." He gestured towards the leftmost corridor and then started down it, going slowly in deference to his smaller companions. "If I hadn't already known your specs, I'm sure I would have recognized you anyway from his descriptions alone. He speaks of you often."

It was both embarrassing and gratifying, and Sam mumbled something appropriate, focusing on the hallway in front of them.

"And you must be Mikaela. A pleasure."

"Yeah, for me, too. This is some place you guys have set up."

"Yes, we've been working very hard on construction," Prowl said, pride coloring his voice. "It will be some time before we are at full capacity but with the new upgrades we have available, it will some day run more efficiently than Cybertron."

"Seriously?" Mikaela said, impressed. "You guys must kick some serious ass."

"We do what we can," Prowl said, soft humor in his voice.

Sam was listening half-heartedly, staring into each glass- paneled room they passed and seeing more unfamiliar Autobots and humans, walls coated with electronics whose lights flickered a variety or colors and he still didn't see the one Autobot he was interested in. His feet had taken on a new level of ache by the time they finished their questing through the large corridors and elevators to the one that finally, finally held the object of his...well, okay, his desire qualified.

"Here, Sam, main engineering," Prowl pushed through a door that was several times taller than the humans and Sam followed impatiently, skidding to a stop when Bumblebee was finally within his sight.

Or what little of him he could see. Dozens of cables were connected to him, lining his chest and circling his head like some sort of robotic Medusa. It was...it wasn't exactly creepy but it was seriously weird and as he stared uncertainly, blue optics flickered on and instantly Bumblebee's holo-form shimmered to life in front of him, smiling questioningly at them.

"You should take better care of your things, Bumblebee," Prowl said, his voice mod gently teasing as he leaned casually against the opposite wall. "I found these two wandering around downstairs. If I hadn't come across them, I do believe the guard on duty was planning on testing out the brig."

"I bet he would have liked to try," Mikaela scoffed. "Look, we only came to find you because—"

"I needed to see you for a minute," Sam broke in hastily, nodding slightly in Prowl's direction.

"No problem. Bee, you need to go pick up some extra cabling anyway. Mikaela, why don't you give me a hand with this, I'm scanning quadrant number 256 for any signs of Decepticon activity but I need to calibrate the sensors and human hands work better on that. I've heard you're quite skilled with your hands."

The last comment quelled the rebellious protest Sam had seen beginning, as she laughed instead and stepped closer to Prowl. "Oh, have you? I think I'd like to hear more about what they are saying about me."

Bee gestured for him to follow and they slipped out quietly, making their way silently down the hallway as Sam tried to think of a way to tell Bee...tell him what? That their teacher was involved in a little extra credit on the side? And with his brother, the asshole extraordinaire, gah, it was so many levels of gross that Sam wasn't even sure where to begin.

He never got a chance to decide, following Bee absently through a door and suddenly the world shifted around him as he was slammed back against the door he'd just trudged through, Bee's mouth hot on his and the faint chime of music, barely heard, _"I think we're alone now..."_

"Wait," Sam tried to protest. Twisting his head away only left his neck open as an area of attack and he shivered as Bumblebee sucked on his earlobe, one hand already working its way beneath his t-shirt.

"Stop, stop," Sam pushed hard on Bee's shoulders, ignoring his hormones that were already standing at attention and ready to commit themselves to action, sir. "Look, we have to talk, okay?"

Nothing about that statement should have made Bumblebee go so very still, pulling back to look into Sam's face and his eyes were glowing oddly, almost blazing with blue light that was bright enough for Sam to see they were in a storage closet of some sort, cables and boxes piled around them and none of that was important in the face of Bumblebee's expression, one that Sam could only describe as _pissed_. "No."

His voice was low and hoarse, strange to hear after so many days of silence and note passing.

"Wh-what? Bee you aren't supposed to be talking yet!"

"No. You aren't going back to her." His lips weren't even moving, just a low staticky transmission that seemed to come from the air itself. "I won't let you."

"Go back to-ah!" Sam yelped as Bumblebee physically lifted him from the ground, pushing him hard against the door with one knee between Sam's legs, pressed tightly into the firming heat of his crotch.

"I won't. It would be out of guilt and you would only be unhappy." Bumblebee moved in to mouth at the line of Sam's jaw, his hands under Sam's thighs holding him up and he rocked against Sam, rubbing against him almost too hard but God, it felt better than it should.

"St-ah, god!" We can't do this, he tried to say, they weren't supposed to be doing anything on their own but the sound of denim tearing distracted him, his pants shredding beneath hands that weren't nearly as human as they looked and Bumblebee's mouth was knowing and perfect, sliding wetly down his chest as he hitched Sam up further, sliding his legs over Bee's shoulders and holy Christ, he had his hands in Bee's hair before he'd could even think, white-knuckled grip as Bee sucked his cock into his mouth like he'd spent a week cruising gay porn sites.

"Ah," Sam wailed, couldn't call it anything else and he threw his head back, saw stars as he banged it on the heavy steel door and thank god Autobots built their things sturdy otherwise anyone else on the floor could have heard them.

Sam didn't care, couldn't, his entire focus narrowing to the slick tongue circling the head of his cock and the sweet, hot suction around it. He almost shrieked when it vanished, did shriek when gravity suddenly kicked in and he dropped abruptly, not even coming close to hitting the floor but he staggered back onto his feet, stumbling as Bee whirled him around without warning and the door was cold beneath his cheek, Bee's hands on his hips unyielding as they pulled him backwards, positioning him. His pants were in shreds, the leftovers hanging over his sneakers and his shirt was barely pushed up but Bumblebee wasn't giving him a moment to even think, crowding in behind him and licking at the small of his back and lower, down into the cleft of his ass and Sam couldn't make a sound as he dipped lower, licking right there, oh, dear god, impossibly good.

The first finger pushing inside him made him hiss, even slick the pressure was almost too much. They'd only done this once before and he remembered his desperation for it then, the harsh burn of it deep inside overshadowed by the pleasure.

"Let me," Bumblebee whispered urgently, his voice grating and harsh but his fingers gentle, twisting inside him in a way that made Sam gasp. "Let me give this to you, Sam. I can make you feel so good."

"Yes," he choked out, burying his face in his folded arms. He felt Bumblebee move behind him, his fingers slipping free and blunt pressure against him, easing inside.

Bumblebee said something in his own language, abrasive but Sam needed no translation. Yes, yes, do it, please. His body felt oddly heavy, pinning Sam against the door as he twined their fingers together, gripping him firmly before he thrust in hard for the first time.

It couldn't be called a scream, nothing that hoarse or low could be but it echoed in Sam's ear, mirroring his own cry and it hurt, it couldn't help but hurt, unyielding pressure inside him and it was perfect, Sam arching back into each thrust even as they lifted him onto his toes, trying to hold on to something but it was impossible, Bumblebee was everywhere around him, inside him, holding him closer than Sam even wanted to allow but it was too late to stop now, too late for anything.

"So beautiful, you...perfect...so..." Bumblebee's voice fading in and out and that was enough to pull Sam a little bit back into reality, sweat stinging in his eyes as he tipped his head back to whisper.

"You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Don't...care..." Another thrust, hard enough to tear a scream from Sam and god, nothing could feel this good, so deep inside him, so perfect, like electricity arching between them and Bumblebee's hips hitched once, twice, surging inside him and Sam's vision wavered, going dark and he dimly wondered if this was what Bumblebee felt all those times before the sweet, hot wash of it blanked his thoughts entirely.

It seemed like he was swimming through thick, deep ink, blinking slowly in the dim light and it took even longer for him to puzzle out where he was. Sprawled out on a concrete floor that was seriously cold beneath his bare ass while the top half of him was in Bumblebee's arms, staticky words making their way through his haze.

"...so sorry, I don't...thinking...trying to..."

"Stop," Sam held up a weary hand and Bee fell instantly silent, his eyes a mirror of pure misery. Scrubbing an arm over his face, Sam took a deep breath and surveyed the situation. He was mostly naked, check. His clothes were a wreck, check. And his ex-girlfriend was in the other room and probably considering coming to look for them by now. Double check.

Bee looked like he was halfway to committing ritual suicide or a hard drive wipe, or whatever Autobots did when they had to end it all in a dramatic fashion.

"You know, I wasn't going to break up with you, dipshit," Sam said, pulling his knees up so he could prop his chin on them. It would have been way too much of a struggle to keep the amusement out of his voice. Bumblebee had totally just fucked him unconscious in a store room because he was jealous. Honestly, it was almost too cute for words.

It was Bee's turn to stare at him blankly.

"I know I sort of jumped from her to you, but I'm not actually that fickle. We were going to break up whether or not you were in the picture."

Blankness shifted to confusion and Bumblebee opened his mouth to speak.

"No, you don't!" Sam slapped a hand over his mouth and glared into the green eyes over it. "You aren't supposed to be talking! I am not dumping you and my clothes are totally wrecked, so I'm going to give you some time to think about what we're going to do about that while I tell you what I came here for."

Sam took a deep breath, steadying himself as he tried to think of a good way to phrase this. "Mikaela and I walked in on Sunstreaker giving Sideswipe a blowjob."

Okay, bluntness could be good, too. Bumblebee's eyes went wide over Sam's hand and he hastened to add, "They didn't see us and we got out of there in a hurry but I thought...actually, I don't know what I thought," Sam frowned. "I just thought I needed to tell you."

Gently, Bee pulled Sam's hand away from his face and replaced it with his own, rubbing his temples in an oddly human gesture. "It's my fault," he whispered hoarsely.

"Bee, you aren't supposed to be talking, dammit!"

"Voice transfer isn't as straining as outright speaking," Bumblebee said, tiredly. "Sideswipe hasn't been with Sunstreaker in centuries, as far as I am aware. The last sexual relationship he had was with an organic on Turlon 5 and that was over a century ago."

"Centu...you mean they've been together before? But—brothers! Related! I mean, eww!"

Bumblebee smiled thinly. "I'm aware that such a relationship is considered highly taboo in almost all human cultures, but amongst Autobots it isn't all that unusual for those who share a spark to have a sexual relationship," he paused, obviously considering his words. "They are two parts of a whole, it draws them together."

"Two parts," Sam wrinkled his nose a little. It still sounded gross. "So...they really are like good and evil twins?"

His laugh was silent but obvious nonetheless. "Nothing so linear, I'm sure. Their personalities are their own." Bee tipped his head in a little shrug, his pale hair falling over his shoulder in a way that made Sam swallow and could his hormones please give him a five minute break? "But I am hardly an expert on spark siblings. Ratchet could possible explain it better."

"Yeah, I'll get right on asking him," Sam said, rolling his eyes. He and Ratchet were certainly not the best of buddies right now.

Bumblebee didn't seem to hear him, his expression bleak. "It's my fault. He's been helping us and his sexual frustration...Sunstreaker would have known and he would certainly have taken advantage. Sideswipe wouldn't have wanted to impose on us, but I should have known." He slammed a fist against the concrete floor hard enough to leave a mark. "All my fault."

"That's a load of bullshit! He was helping us, that makes it my fault, too," Sam said firmly. "Look, Sideswipe has been helping us out a lot and...did you not power down just now?" Sam asked suddenly, only just realizing it was the first time he'd woken up in Bee's arms.

Bee gave him a rueful look. "I did. I just seem to regain my online status faster than you do."

"Ratchet will love that," he sighed. "But Sideswipe has been helping us. Isn't it only fair that we help him—I mean," he added hastily at Bumblebee's raised eyebrow. "We should—we—he shouldn't have to—"

"I agree," Bee interrupted smoothly. He lifted one hand to Sam's face and ran a single finger down his face, tracing the line of it. "Unwilling as I am to share any part of you, it's unfair for Sideswipe to bear the brunt of my arousal without the benefit of it."

"Did we just agree to have like, a weird holographic threesome," Sam asked. "Only, I just want to make sure because my life is so, so strange now that I should really start keeping notes or charts or something."

"We agreed that Sideswipe will no longer leave unsatisfied," Bee said firmly. "I believe that is all I am willing to concede at the moment."

"My ass will testify to how little you want to concede any part of me," Sam muttered, stretching and feeling just about every muscle in his body twinge. "Have you come up with any plans on the clothing issue?"

"Of course." Clothing bloomed to life on Sam's body that matched what he'd been wearing almost perfectly. He touched in wonderingly, the way it felt real unlike the uniform Bee had put on him before. "It won't last long away from me," Bee warned. "So I'll drive you back to your quarters so you can change into some real clothes."

"Thanks, I'd hate for my clothes to vanish in the middle of dinner." Bumblebee looked perfect already, of course, still wearing the sleeveless shirt Mikaela had requested, the dark symbols on his bicep glowing faintly. Sam ran a finger over it lightly, almost expecting it to feel different but it only felt like skin. "Maybe I should get one too, eh? Only I'm kind of a pussy about needles, to tell the truth."

Bumblebee smiled at him and reached out to stroke finger over Sam's arm in a mimic of his touch. Color bloomed to life on his skin, painlessly shaping itself into a perfect mirror of Bee's.

"Sweet!" Sam craned his head around, trying to see all of it. "What does it say?"

Bee smiled sweetly and shook his head, pointing at his throat.

"Oh come on, you've been talking for an hour now!"

A faint shrug and he opened the door and slipped out, Sam following hastily before his clothes decided to take a powder. Almost limping, really, and he had to consciously try to walk normally before someone wondered why he looked like he had a roll of quarters jammed up his ass.

"I'm going to get you," Sam muttered, low enough that only Bee could hear him. "I am so going to get you for all of this."

Faint music clicked on, just for him, ..._you made me promises, promises. You knew you'd never keep..._

"Oh, I will." Just out of sight of main engineering, Sam grabbed Bee and pulled him back into his arms, whispering into his ear. "I am so keeping that promise."

He felt Bee shudder a little, tongued his ear wetly before shoving him forward and watching him stumble a step. It was so worth the glare he got before Bee relaxed his expression and walked back into engineering. Sam smoothed his hair back and followed him, keeping his face as innocent as possible while his brain was still running scenarios. Oh, yeah. Totally keeping that promise.

-finis-


	11. Greeks Bearing Gifts

Greeks Bearing Gifts  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

If Sam were to pick one thing as his tiny gift from god for the day, it would be that Mikaela was still completely engrossed in whatever Prowl was showing her, so much so that she barely glanced up when he and Bumblebee walked back into the operations room or whatever the heck they called it. Knowing Bumblebee's love of Star Trek, he could be calling it the Enterprise.

It made it a lot easier to not feel awkward about waving away the chair that Prowl distractedly offered him because sitting so did not sound like a great idea after getting fucked sideways against a steel door. Come to think of it, he and Bee seemed to have a thing for doors, maybe he should start keeping a list...

"You finished?" Mikaela asked him, absently, breaking into his weird sexual musing.

"Huh? I mean, yeah, we can go if you want." Bumblebee was busy detaching all of the wires that were hooked up to him and his holo form was still standing silently behind Sam, one hand resting very lightly on his shoulder. It was sort of weird to have Bumblebee and, well, Bumblebee in a room together but not in a bad way.

"Sure, let's hit it." She climbed up from her spot on the floor, dusting off her jeans and giving the array of blinking lights and whatever the hell else it was a longing glance. He should've known. It didn't matter if it was cars or computers, if it was mechanical, then Mikaela wanted to be elbow-deep into it. That was cool enough though, at least she'd have something to do here since Sam doubted she'd be interested in the World of Warcaft raid party that he and Bee were planning. It was a lot easier to play a ten-man raid when the other guy could control nine characters at once. Kept the asshole quota down.

At the moment though, all Sam wanted was a shower and a set of real clothes. Not that he didn't trust Bee's holograms, but even the feel of clothing didn't get rid of the creepy 'going to school in your underwear' vibe he had at the moment. If Bee was going to make a habit of tearing off his clothes in semi-public places, he'd better damn well be ready to start carrying around a spare set. There were limits to the weirdness that Sam could handle on a given day.

Speaking of weirdness, Mikaela got one good look at him and started laughing. "Got a little jealous, did you?"

For just one second, Sam could actually taste his own heart. He knew it was his heart because it had just leapt from its home in his chest straight into his throat and how in the hell could she know what had happened and—her fingers trailing over his arm made him automatically glance down and he suddenly remembered the tattoo that Bee had given him.

Sam laughed himself then, a little weakly. "Yeah, well, it looked pretty sweet."

"It did," she agreed. "Not bad on you, either. C'mon, it's been a long day already and I'd like to get a little bit unpacked before dinner."

"Come by anytime you like, Mikaela, the rumors about you haven't been exaggerated," Prowl said, smiling a little. "You are quite good with your hands. I'll make sure you have clearance next time."

"And wouldn't that be a sweet little piece of justice the next time I see the Door Gestapo," she grinned. "Don't worry, I'll be around."

With a last wave, she sauntered out the door, leaving Sam and Bee to follow her bemusedly. The walk back down seemed even longer and it did not escape his notice that Bee's holo form was walking right along with his robot one, a hand on Sam's elbow like he was guiding him along. Whatever Mikaela thought of it, Sam figured it was probably in his best interest not having his imaginary clothes melting away, and if Bee touching him was keeping that from happening, he could go with it.

He finally vanished when they got outside and Bee transformed into the Camaro, Sam sliding automatically into the driver's side as Mikaela climbed into the passenger seat. He tried not to remember that the last time they'd been in here together, he and Mikaela had made out in the backseat, sticking sweatily to the seats and her hand in his pants.

The memory made a cold sort of sweat form on his forehead and in the middle of his back. He'd made out with Bumblebee in that backseat, too, a veritable wave of hormones had breezed through this tiny place, sweat and semen and he could not possibly be getting hard right now, it was so not of the good, sitting here next to his ex in imaginary clothes and thinking about the soft cushion of her breasts in comparison to the flatter, more muscular planes of Bumblebee's chest and...cold, cold, cold, think ice cubes, snow, hell, think icebergs, no erections, he had no idea how far Bumblebee's illusion covered.

Dropping her off at her little bunker was more of a relief than he would ever admit, taking the very first moment of privacy as an opportunity to adjust himself more comfortably in his pants.

Not quite private though, as a faint voice spoke up, "Problems?"

"No, and you can stop talking anytime now," Sam grumbled. "Ratchet is going to use your windshield wipers as toothpicks if you screw up your voice mod again."

"He'd have to catch me first." But he fell silent again, cruising through the wide street towards Sam's building. The roads were well built, as expected for a race of beings that spent about half their time on tires.

Bee's holo reappeared in a wave of silvery light as Sam got out of the car, lightly grabbing his elbow again and following Sam into his quarters as if they were just good friends on their way in. Or like he was an Autobot collecting up the boy he'd rudely stripped of his clothes an hour ago, but he figured none of the soldier boys would pick up on that option.

The door was barely shut before Bumblebee's hand tightened and he jerked Sam back against him, leaning against the door and pressing soft kisses against Sam's already sore lips.

"I'm starting to think you're pumping aphrodisiacs in through your air system," Sam joked breathlessly. Well, mostly joked.

"You don't need them; your pheromones speak for you." Bumblebee sighed it into his mouth, lips clinging damply to Sam's. His voice still sounded rusty and weak, but maybe a little stronger now? "But I can't stay. I had a lead on some Decepticon activity this morning and I need to finish checking it out."

"Yeah," Sam agreed mournfully. One last kiss, and then he'd have to let Bee get back to work. Maybe just one more...he tore away with a gasp, stepping back hastily as Bumblebee's hands started drifting down his hips and lower. "Go, go, you horndog!"

"Going." Bumblebee licked the tip of his finger and rubbed it wetly against Sam's lips, one last damp touch before he faded into nothingness.

"Jesus," Sam whispered, shivering in a way that had nothing to do with cold. Although cold did sound like a good idea right now, particularly in a shower form.

His shower was less soothing than usual since he hadn't even bothered to turn on the hot water, but it did wake him up pretty well. By the time he'd gotten dressed it was only mid-afternoon and that left him with hours of nothing much to do until Bee came back. Not that they could do anything particularly fun, one illicit closet session was enough, thank you, and Sideswipe would be back tomorrow morning to-

He needed to stop thinking about it or his cold shower was going to have a sequel. Man, he swore he hadn't been this horny before he and Bumblebee had started with the pelvic delights. It was like having a little sex just made him want more and more, his body happily accepting every bit of touchy-feely it could soak up.

Of course, Bumblebee was never shy of providing a spare handjob but Sam couldn't stop feeling it was completely unfair. He didn't want the orgasm ratio to get completely skewed in his favor and not just because he suspected Bumblebee was keeping track.

So that left him here to do...what? He was vaguely hungry - and he hadn't logged onto his computer in ages. Almost involuntarily, he glanced at his computer. The mail icon blinked at him accusingly, flashing the gratingly cheerful little 'you have mail!' symbol.

Okay, so maybe he should get out.

Only, the last time he'd gone out wandering, they'd bumped into the wonder twins doing some extremely unwonderful things and God knew who else he'd wander in and see screwing. It was like this place was a giant hormone factory and for all he knew, the soldiers themselves were finding dark corners.

The thought of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe made a little mental picture of it pop up helpfully in his head and what else had they done after he and Mikaela had run for it, God, had Sideswipe...no. Not thinking of it. It might be normal for Autobots but as far as Sam was concerned, the amount of asshole that Sunstreaker had going for him was almost worse than the possible incest angle and if it was his and Bee's fault that Sideswipe had gone back to him, then they owed him way more than a handshake and a thanks.

A niggling little thought occurred to him. Bumblebee had admitted that he didn't know all that much about Autobot twins...was it possible that he was wrong? Spark siblings, he'd called them. And Ratchet would know more about it.

Sam sighed heavily and stepped into his shoes so he could walk back over to the infirmary. This was starting to be a bad habit, but damn it, he actually liked Ratchet. He didn't want to be angry with him and maybe it was about time he buried that hatchet and planted a tree on it.

Ratchet was in the main garage-style room in his robot form, working on something, not someone, mechanical. Sam didn't recognize it but it was oddly fascinating to watch anyway, now that it wasn't someone Sam actually knew split open like a cheap dvd player. His large fingers, each one as long as Sam was tall, divided into slim, little instruments that worked at a speed that he could hardly keep up with it, shards of light glinting off the shining metal like a photo flash.

Before he could say anything, Ratchet said, dryly. "I believe I'm going to start training you as a medical assistant."

"Huh?" Sam blinked.

"It would give you a better excuse to be here. You're the only being who regularly visits without being in the process of dripping blood or lubricant."

Oh. "Sorry?" he tried.

"It's all right, Sam." He managed to wave it off without actually moving either of his hands from their work. "Since I can see that all of your limbs are intact, what is it that you'd like to talk to me about now?"

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker..."

His voice cooled considerably and it told Sam clearly that Ratchet understood exactly what he was asking about. More than that, he either didn't approve of what they were doing or he didn't approve of Sam asking about it. Maybe both. "If you wish to know more about their relationship, I suggest you ask one of them."

"I was really more interested in Autobot twins in general; Bumblebee said you'd know more about it than he would."

Sparks danced out from Ratchet's fingertips and he made a rude sound, metal screeching against the metal. "I'm sure you'd consider it boring. I've noticed that general Autobot workings hold very little interest for you." He'd never been so curt before, on the edge of insulting. Sam had gotten used to thinking of Ratchet as a sort of curmudgeon, a grouchy old man who always kind of liked you anyway. Despite everything, despite Bumblebee and all the freakiness, he knew that Ratchet had only been trying to help. Had helped, he was the one who'd gotten Sideswipe to act as a energy reserve or whatever it was.

"Are you mad at me?" Sam had to ask. He felt just a little sick and it had nothing to do with the dark fluid coating Ratchet's fingers this time. He really did like Ratchet and maybe he really hadn't been as forgiving of that whole situation as he should have been.

Ratchet went completely still, perhaps considering his answer. After a long moment, he withdrew his hands from the innards of the machine, his fingers snapping and hissing as they slid back into their normal form. He moved to crouch in front of Sam, dipping his head low enough that they could look at each other properly. "No, Sam. I am not angry with you. It would be more accurate to say I am angry at a situation that I have been recently reminded is none of my concern. That you are involved in that situation makes it difficult to separate my irritation from it and you."

"You mean with Sideswipe?"

Ratchet snorted and reeled back a little, moving to sit on the concrete floor. He drew his knees up and let his hands dangle between them, an oddly human pose. "I mean you and Bumblebee. Your relationship is causing me a great deal of concern."

"We're working on it!" Sam protested. "We've been getting a lot better, Sideswipe said that—"

"I don't mean your sexual relationship. There is something to it besides the sex, isn't there?" The acid in his voice stung, disdain of the like that Sam had rarely heard from anyone, certainly not from Ratchet.

"I think maybe you were right before, this isn't any of your concern," Sam said stiffly.

"Yes, do put me in my place. I can see why you'd be reluctant to talk about it, since you're much more concerned with what others are doing. Shall we discuss Sunstreaker and Sideswipe now, or is that too personal for you as well?"

"Look, just because I don't want to discuss my sex life with you-!"

"Sex?" Ratchet asked sharply. "What does sex have to do with anything? Anyone could take sex from you and have not the slightest emotion for it at all."

Sam just stared at him, blue optics almost glaring at him. This didn't make any sense, what the hell was Ratchet going on about? "Sideswipe told me once that you're a being of extreme logic," Sam said, slowly. "He said that you don't comprehend the emotions surrounding a...a simi relationship, is that what it's called?"

"Sideswipe is hardly an expert on emotions and he doesn't know the first thing about me." Coolly, large hands curling briefly into fists.

"Then what has you so concerned?" Sam burst out, exasperated.

"Because you're going to hurt him, aren't you." Ratchet sounded so sure, so wearily certain that Sam's automatic protests died unspoken. Instead, he moved to sit on the floor, mimicking Ratchet's posture.

"All right, you've got my attention. So explain it to me."

For a moment, he thought Ratchet was going to balk and then he looked away, his voice low as he said. "Organics are always the same. If you don't know the truth of what we are, then we are lying to you, if you do, then it's a game to play, as if we were toys. You act like this is some affectation to Bumblebee but I assure you, it isn't. Your people consistently call them holograms but it's inaccurate. When his sensors are within that body, he is that body. I am very fond of Bumblebee, I was there when he was given spark. And I had no issue with him experimenting sexually with you. But it's gone beyond that, hasn't it."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Ratchet that it was none of his damned business but Sam was beginning to truly understand that Autobots didn't see things the same as humans and Ratchet seemed to feel he had every reason to be concerned. Not as a medical officers but as a friend. Almost as a parent. And seriously, he wouldn't have told Mikaela's father to piss off if he asked about his intentions.

"Yes," Sam met Ratchet's optics evenly. "But I don't think of him as a toy. You can't make an assumption about all organics any more than I can make one about all Autobots. It's not fair and it's not true. You're nothing like the Decepticons."

Whatever Ratchet had been about to say was cut off as the shrill call of an alarm sounded. Ratchet was on his feet immediately, already transforming.

"We can discuss this later, I—" He stopped, and Sam started backing away to let him go. "Wait. Get in."

"What?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"Get in!" The front passenger seat swung open. "We can argue later, come on!"

"I don't really want to be a medical assistant—"

"Get in!" Loud enough to echo in the large room and Sam hastily slid in, the seat belt tightening around him as Ratchet tore out of the garage, sirens blaring as they shot through the streets at a pace that had even Sam's throat tightening and he was used to Bee's driving.

"What is going on?" Sam yelled, trying to be heard over the sirens.

"I'm not sure yet," Ratchet said, his voice tinny over the radio speakers. "But I know you entirely too well. If I didn't bring you, you'd hear about it from someone else and then I'd probably end up with two patients to deal with."

Sam fell silent, watching as they pulled up to the building he'd been at earlier today and Ratchet's words were starting to filter in now, starting to make sense and oh, God, he clambered out of Ratchet who barely waited to transform before he was already through the main doors, Sam running as fast as he could to keep up with his enormous strides and they were running down the same path

_No_

The same way he'd gone earlier today and

_No, please_

And main engineering was in view and he could already

_God, no, you can't do this to me, you can't_

hear the high, electronic squeal that passed for Autobot screaming and Bumblebee was on the floor, the large cables that had been connected to him earlier were torn loose, coiled around him like large black snakes. Another Autobot was kneeling by his head, his hands on Bumblebee's shoulders, holding him down and in the moment it took for Sam to recognize Sunstreaker, the light behind his eyes washed into pure red, his vision all but obscured by it, and he very nearly flung himself at Sunstreaker even if it would have been tantamount to suicide. He had faced down Megatron, this was nothing so terrifying as that and he would have if a large hand hadn't grabbed at him, holding him back.

"Sam, wait, he's helping!"

It barely registered, the familiarity of the voice not filtering in through his rage. Sam struggled against his mechanical jailer, watching bitterly as Ratchet crouched down and began running a diagnostic.

"What did you do to him?" Sam demanded, trying to squirm free, _God, just let me go!_

The hand holding him shook him, hard enough that his head snapped forward and banged hard against one metal finger. Stars sparked in his vision and he shook them off dazedly, finally looking up at Sideswipe.

"Sam, listen to me, he's helping," Sideswipe said urgently. "He's acting as a firewall to block the progress of the virus."

"Why are you two even here?" Ratchet asked sharply.

"We're on monitor duty today. I am, really, but Sunstreaker is supposed to be working with me at all times. We relieved Prowl about an hour ago and then this happened." Shakily, Sideswipe was actually trembling, Sam could feel the tiny tremors in the hand holding him, a faint vibration.

Sunstreaker's expression was tight, his optics closed and his fingers clenched so tightly on Bee's shoulders that they were leaving dents, slight impressions on the metal. Even as they watched, they tightened harder, metal screaming along with Bumblebee. The first trail of blackness down Sunstreaker's face made no sense to Sam, a ribbon of darkness trailing from his optic. It wasn't until the second appeared at the other, then a third to trail down his chin that Sam realized what he was seeing. Sunstreaker was bleeding. First in a faint trickle then it was running freely, dripping down to stain the yellow of Bee's plating.

"Ratchet..." Sam started, staring in horror as the flow worsened. He was drowned out by Sideswipe, his voice mod shrill.

"Ratchet, power him down!"

"I can't!" Ratchet snarled, his fingers moving with blinding speed as he plugged a wire from his chest into Sunstreaker.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"His wifi isn't accepting commands and he's got some firewall that I can't get past!" Ratchet had one hand on Bumblebee, tendrils of wire curling in to connect with him. "Bumblebee has no control at all and I have no idea how far the virus progressed before Sunstreaker blocked it. This piece of Decepticon treachery is trying to eat its way through both their systems."

The tableau was of pure stillness, Bumblebee caught in a silent scream, Sunstreaker's broken only by the terrible blackness seeping from every opening that he had and Ratchet, his face tight with concentration as everything he tried to do was internal, trying to force his way in so he could do what he could. Sam barely noticed that Sideswipe's grip was tighter than was really comfortable, his legs tingling in warning at the lack of free flowing blood and Sam could have simply screamed, the tension unbearable as minutes ticked by with nothing but the sound of dripping Autobot blood.

It was almost worse to have to broken, Sunstreaker making an odd, feeble sound as he fell away, collapsing on the floor on the opposite side. Sam stumbled as he was abruptly released, Sideswipe barely restraining himself from flinging him as he lurch over to his brother, his hands hovering helplessly as they tried to decide which path of blood to staunch.

"You were wrong," Sunstreaker said faintly, his voice mod crackling like an ancient radio. "Would...have been...terrible...Decepticon."

Sideswipe let out a low moan and was cut off when Ratchet shoved him rudely aside, placing a small, glowing square on Sunstreaker's forehead. He watched it intently, the lights shifting from red to green and then he leaned away with a sigh, returning his full attention to Bumblebee.

"You'll have to save your drama for another time, Sideswipe," Ratchet said curtly. "He'll be fine. I finally broke through his firewall and, believe me, that's something we will be discussing later. He's only powered down. Pull him back and get comfortable. I'm going to have to do a memory sweep on Bumblebee and it's going to take some time."

"Memory?" Sam barely recognized his own voice, pale and weak.

Ratchet spared him a glance before he said, with surprising gentleness. "I'm going to do everything I can for him, Sam." He looked back down at his patient, Bumblebee's limbs twitching with odd little involuntary movements.

"Sam, this is going to take some time. It's possible that he can hear you, I want you to talk to him."

"Talk...but what-"

"Talk to him," Ratchet repeated. "Stay back, I don't want you to get hurt if he seizes. Just talk from there, you don't have to speak loudly; if he's conscious at all, he can hear you."

For a moment, Sam's mind went predictably blank, refusing to cooperate. His eyes were full of Sideswipe, Sunstreaker in his lap and the dark fluid seeping from him slowing down to a trickle. Bumblebee sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a web of black cables and Ratchet, still and silent as his processors probed their way through Bumblebee's databanks, looking for...god, looking for damage.

"Bumblebee?" Words came to him slowly, quietly leaving his lips. "We keep saying that we're going to talk about this thing between us, you know? I feel like I've talked about it with everyone but you, and now I'm here and I'm supposed to be talking and I don't know what to say."

"I'll tell you what I do know. I'll never regret going with you that night. Even with everything that's happened, I don't regret it and I don't want to be anywhere but here. So please, please, stay here with me. Please." His voice broke but Sam pushed past it ruthlessly.

"There was never a chance of me going back to Mikaela. You know that, don't you? You should and maybe I understand why you doubted. I think maybe I haven't been as...as intense in this as you have. That first night you told me that you weren't unaware of my attraction but I was completely blind to it. I didn't even realize until that night."

"You've been afraid in this, haven't you," Sam said softly, "I guess I didn't really notice. I should have. Ratchet said I was going to hurt you but I think I already did. You didn't want me to think this was a game...Ratchet said the same thing. That's what you're afraid of. That I'm playing with a toy that I'll get sick of and then I'll want a new one. A human one, maybe, like Mikaela."

Bee shuddered, whether from Ratchet's ministrations or Sam's words he couldn't know, but he pressed on desperately. "This isn't an affectation to me either, Bumblebee. I'm not playing a game and I outgrew toys a long time ago. You're real, this is real, and I should have told you before this that I love you."

"I love you," he repeated it, softly, not caring that there was no response. "I love you and I'm going to spend a very long time after this convincing you of how much."

His voice was a low murmur beneath the hum of the computers and the slightly louder one of the Autobots. Just the faintest sound amongst so few others as he spoke, the minutes ticking by until he was hoarse, his mouth and throat dry and sore, and he talked on, softly, telling Bee how much he loved him and how he would prove it, again and again, if only he would wake up.

-finis-


	12. In A Dark Ruby Stain

In a Dark Ruby Stain  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

When he remembered it later, and he never wanted to, those memories came seeping unwilling into his dreams like the fog off of a lake, heavy and dim, and when Sam woke from those dreams his eyes were always too hot, unshed tears thick in his throat. But when he did, less and less as time passed, the one memory he could never quite shake was the way the floor beneath him never warmed. He sat on it for what seemed like hours, speaking softer and softer to Bumblebee as his voice slowly gave way to overuse, and the floor never warmed to his body heat.

It seemed to siphon it away instead, leaching his warmth until he was speaking through chilled, bloodless lips but never did Sam stop speaking, not so long as Ratchet still worked and there were tiny lights that flashed on Ratchet's instruments. Meaningless little shifts in color to Sam but he watched them nonetheless, silently counting every tiny flicker because each one said life and that was all he needed to see.

Bumblebee hadn't moved since Sunstreaker had fallen away from him.

But Ratchet had told him to speak and Sam had, to the point of telling Bumblebee meaningless stories about his childhood, about the time he'd broken his arm when he'd tried to stand on one foot on a soccer ball, about his eighth birthday party where Miles had eaten too much cake and had puked on his mom's azaleas. He'd sung snatches of his favorite songs and bits from poems he'd remembered. Anything, everything, and once he'd had a dim, almost hysterical thought that if it was possible to bore someone to death then he might be doing it right now.

Those little flickering lights were the only straw he had to grasp at and Sam did, watching them, counting them and every time he got to one hundred, he told Bumblebee that he loved him.

It was only when Optimus arrived that Sam broke off, briefly, rubbing his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a useless effort to work up any spit to ease the dryness of his throat. He felt like he'd swallowed a large glass of the Sahara.

Optimus spared Sideswipe and Sunstreaker only the barest of glances, taking in the darkness of Sunstreaker's optics and his brother's grip on his limp form. It was Ratchet and Bumblebee who took the full weight of his attention, Ratchet not even looking up as their leader loomed over him, almost too large for the room. He didn't speak, waiting with silent patience for Ratchet to pause in his work.

"This is as stable as I can get him here, with the little equipment that I have. We need to move him to the infirmary," Ratchet said, his hands always moving and to Sam it looked like little beams of lights came from his fingertips, the same laser he'd used on Bumblebee the night they had arrived. "I'm barely keeping ahead of the virus now and I won't be able to for much longer, not with field medic tools."

"Ironhide will be here momentarily," Optimus said, "Between the two of us, we will be able to carry Bumblebee and allow you to continue staving off the virus."

"Fine." Ratchet's hand moved, twisting something almost viciously and Bumblebee made a sound, the first in ages and Sam felt an answering sound swelling in his own throat, a wordless protest of the pain Ratchet was causing him. Sam choked it back, but he couldn't stop watching, couldn't look away from the dark, liquid sheen on Ratchet's fingertips.

"Sideswipe," Ratchet snapped out, and the other Autobot jumped, startled from his stillness. "Sunstreaker is going to be fine. When we have Bumblebee stable, I will have him transported to the infirmary. For now, I want you to take Sam back to his quarters."

"What?" Sam's voice was rough and grating, and he swallowed hard, forcing words past his abused vocal cords. "If I go anywhere it's going to be straight to the infirmary with Bumblebee. I'm sure as hell not going to my room like a five year old!"

"Sideswipe, take him out of here," Optimus said, his tone brooking no argument and if he'd been an Autobot, Sam surely would have jumped the same way that Sideswipe did, carefully settling his brother on the floor before his large hand closed over a protesting human as gently as possible. But he wasn't an Autobot, he was only human and every bit of his organic body was struggling against Sideswipe's grip, bruising tender flesh against metallic fingers.

"No!" Sam screamed, his voice fading. "Ratchet, don't do this to me! I want to stay with him, please-" He managed to squirm half out of Sideswipe's grip, forcing him try using two hands and Sam slipped trying to avoid them, biting his tongue hard enough to taste warm copper. The pain cleared his head somewhat and he could hear Ratchet saying his name.

"Sam," Ratchet said again, sharply, and for the barest moment he looked up, the blue light of his optics meeting Sam's eyes. "Listen to me. Do you remember what we spoke about earlier?"

Sam nodded, glaring at Ratchet through tear-filled eyes.

"You were right. I wasn't being fair to you," His optics flicked down to Bumblebee, back up to Sam. "I trust you, do you understand me? I believe you. But I need you to trust me. I need to focus on Bumblebee and it will be much easier if I'm not worried about you as well so for Bumblebee's sake, I want you to go with Sideswipe. I can contact him in seconds if I need to."

"Promise me you'll help him," Sam whispered it with the last bit of voice he had.

His optics flickered but Ratchet didn't hesitate. "I promise."

Sam didn't need anyone to tell him it was a lying promise, a false piece of hope offering what comfort it could. Help him, yes, Ratchet would promise that. But nothing in his words or in those soft blinking lights promised that Ratchet would save him.

At that moment, Ironhide came through the door, crowding into the already too-small room and Sam never had a moment to reach out to Bumblebee, not a single last touch before Sideswipe carried him away and he never knew if his last barely whispered 'I love you' was heard by anyone at all.

Outside, night had already fallen, shadowing the city in darkness that was never complete. There were too many lights, Autobot City an appropriate name for the way it shone through the desert darkness akin to Las Vegas. They were well away from Main Administration before Sideswipe finally set him down, almost warily, hesitating a moment before stepping back to transform as if he was afraid Sam would run back into the building. Back to Bumblebee.

But Sam never moved a step, only swayed on his feet with a sort of exhaustion he'd never before felt. When Sideswipe opened the driver's side door in silent offering, he nearly fell into the seat, curling up into cool leather and not even murmuring a protest as the seatbelt tightened gently around him.

"I'll take you back to your quarters, Sam," Sideswipe said, his voice faintly tinny in the small interior.

"I think..." Sam tried to swallow again, wishing very much for just a glass of water. "I think I'd like to see Mikaela instead."

"All right." Softly agreeable and he shifted into drive slowly, moving almost unsteadily along the smooth roads. It shook Sam from his melancholy enough to remind him that Sideswipe's evening hadn't been of the sunshine and cherries variety either.

"Are you all right?" Sam whispered, trusting Sideswipe to hear him much in the same way he'd trusted Bee. The long silence almost convinced him that Sideswipe hadn't heard him at all and it made panic swell in his chest, thickening in his throat because oh, god, what if Ratchet had just been trying to distract him, what if Bumblebee couldn't have heard a word of it and-

"Not really." Those two words, heavy with exhaustion and honesty, eased his fears more than Sam would have liked to admit. "I believe the human equivalent would be that I am in shock. These past few months have been so peaceful; I believe I allowed myself to forget that we are still at war. Although this kind of wound..."

"It's bad, isn't it." Not a question, not one that required an answer. Not with what he'd seen and the sight of dark liquid dripping from Sunstreaker's eyes was one that would haunt him for months to come.

Another long silence, the hum of the engine and the faint hiss of the tires on asphalt the only noise before Sideswipe offered, tentatively. "Ratchet will do everything in his power to help Bumblebee."

"Have you seen anything like this before?"

"Yes," so softly, and to Sam it felt like a tremor went through Sideswipe's sturdy frame. He didn't ask the next question, could almost feel Sideswipe's tension as he waited for it to come. But no, he didn't want to ask, he didn't want to know what had happened before. He just wanted to sit here and watch the headlights cutting through the gloom ahead of them as Mikaela's quarters loomed into view.

The low-slung building that was almost a perfect copy of Sam's, the westerly facing door was the only difference. There was a vehicle parked in front of it, 'Police' in neat black letters across the door and Sam stared at it uncomprehendingly, almost stupid with exhaustion.

"I hadn't heard that Prowl had been assigned to guard her," Sideswipe said, "But that makes sense, he would be an excellent protector."

Sam was too weary to even think of agreeing, just stumbled out of the door when it swung open and up to the steel-framed one that led to Mikaela. He hadn't even thought much about why he was coming here, only that she had been with him the last time Bumblebee had been hurt and he knocked almost too hard, just wanting her to open the door. From behind him, he heard Sideswipe begin to speak, urgency in his soft voice, "Sam, wait-"

The door cracked open slowly, her face cast in shadow as she peered out warily. "Sam? What are you doing here, it's like midnight!"

So flustered, her cheeks bright with color and suddenly Sam didn't need her to open the door because he knew, he _knew_ exactly what was happening behind it and he didn't need to see the faint swollenness to her lips or the tangles in her hair to realize it. His only dim curiosity was to what form Prowl had taken for her, perhaps that muscled jock look that she'd always been weak for.

It was enough for him to take a hesitant step backwards because he could not deal with this right now and the fact that he had no right to be jealous or upset, that he'd cheated on her with Bumblebee before he'd ever considered the consequences of it didn't keep the slow boil of his emotions in check. His heart and his gut throbbed in unison, keeping time in some sort of hellish rhythm where everyone he'd ever cared about was abandoning him. His parents, Mikaela, Bumblebee...

"Sam, wait," Mikaela followed his stumbling backwards steps, unmindful of the cold ground beneath her bare feet. "You look like hell, what happened? Where's Bee?"

"I can't," Sam choked out, his abused vocal cords locking up beneath tightness in his throat. He flinched when she reached out to him, backing away and only stopping when he bumped against the slick metal of Sideswipe's side. The hood was still warm beneath his numb fingertips, ticking gently as it cooled.

"What happened?" Mikaela demanded. "Look, I know how you feel about him, what's going on!"

"You know?" Sam murmured hoarsely. "Did he tell you?" he jerked his head in Prowl's direction and was bitterly gratified to see her cheeks redden, dull ruddy color.

Anger lit her eyes but her voice was even when she spoke. "He didn't need to. I'm not blind, Sam, I can tell when someone sneaks off for a quickie. Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

For the briefest of moments, he wanted that more than anything in the world. Wanted to curl up in her arms and just weep out all of the weariness and strain, and he knew without question she would let him. She would hold him and murmur nonsense words into his hair and offer him every ounce of comfort her arms could give him.

But he didn't belong in her arms anymore.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tried to put every apology he owed her into that one hoarse whisper. For leaving her, for letting her go, for nearly hating her in this one brief moment because it was so easy for her to let him go. For not being able to love her nearly as much as he loved an alien being of metal and gears who was not even close to human but still somehow everything he ever wanted.

Sam didn't give her a chance to protest, just pulled open the door and slipped behind the wheel, pulling it closed quickly behind him. It was gratifying that Sideswipe seemed to understand, driving away without a word, only the faint squeal of tires and the brief yellowed flash of Mikaela's face in the headlights was contorted with worry. He didn't have the energy to care right now, only moving clumsily over the center console until he could get into the back seat and curl up, letting Sideswipe drive wherever the road took him.

"Sam?" Warm hands on his bare arms startled him and he jerked up, blinking at Sideswipe's human aspect. The concern on his face was easier to accept than Mikaela's, the underlying exhaustion so amazingly vivid. Bumblebee had always told him that his holo form was a reflection of what he truly was but he'd never seen it before so clearly as he did right now with Sideswipe, his own fears mirrored in blue eyes.

He didn't quite think about pressing his mouth against Sideswipe's parted lips, easing his tongue into that soft cool mouth. It was frightfully still beneath his questing mouth, Sideswipe's tongue lax and motionless for the briefest of moments before it tentatively responded to Sam's coaxing, liquid movement against him. The seats were cool leather, warming quickly beneath Sam and he noticed the shift of gravity almost dimly, Sideswipe surprisingly heavy over him and his mouth heating, wet tongue lashing against Sam's.

A leg slipped between his own, gliding upward and pressing firmly into the swelling heat of his erection and Sam gasped into Sideswipe's mouth, biting his own lip at the sweet pressure that was so, so perfect, for just an instant. And then it was gone, Sideswipe tearing away from him and scrambling backwards in the too-small space.

Protests died on Sam's lips as he met Sideswipe's eyes, the Autobot panting for breath that he surely didn't need and then reality came back to him in a surge like a tidal wave, guilt drowning him.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Sam cried out, pulling his knees up to his chest. He covered his mouth with one hand, feeling the stinging heat of his lips that were almost swollen from too-hard kisses. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-I'm sorry!"

"Shhhhh," Sideswipe slipped a little closer, lightly touching Sam's hands and he ignored Sam's efforts to pull them away, holding them firmly. "Please. Don't. I may not be a human but I know enough about them to realize that you're emotionally and physically exhausted. It's perfectly understandable that you'd seek comfort and we do have a kind of relationship between us."

A kind of relationship. It reminded him of Bumblebee's reluctance to share any piece of him with Sideswipe, barely allowing a kiss, and guilt was like a physical force battering him inside.

Sideswipe made an exasperated noise, pulling Sam into his arms. "Humans have such an disproportional sense of self. If you honestly think Bumblebee is going to begrudge you a single kiss in this moment, then I daresay you don't know him at all, don't you agree?"

He did, Sam realized. Bumblebee would forgive him without even a thought. Bumblebee always knew what he needed. It made it easier to relax against Sideswipe, closing his eyes at the soothing feel of slim fingertips petting his hair.

"I'm sorry, anyway," Sam said, sleepily. "Cocktease isn't usually a word I like to resemble."

"If I thought for one moment that it was true desire and not a moment of lunatic desperation, I would already have you naked," Sideswipe told him dryly. "There is a great deal about you that would arouse a sexual response."

"I spend most of my life single and now I find I'm irresistible to Autobots."

"I can't vouch for humans but you have many qualities that would attract an Autobot. Your strength, your courage, your compassion are highly desirable. The fact that you have a great ass seems inconsequential in comparison."

Sam choked on a teary laugh. "I don't feel very strong."

"Everyone has an off day."

Sleep was pulling at him, but Sam resisted, confessing softly, "We were going to, you know, me and Bumblebee. We were going to...to...with you. During the next training session."

"Really?" Sideswipe said, surprised. "I admit, I'm a little shocked. Bee didn't seem like he was interested in sharing."

"No, but it didn't seem fair to you to feel everything and get nothing."

"Fair?" He seemed to consider that, his fingers pausing briefly in their stroking before they stirred again, slipping down to rub gentle circles into Sam's back. "If I'd been promised a sexual relationship, I could understand that but I asked for nothing but the chance to help a friend. Not that I wouldn't have taken the opportunity if it was offered but I confess, I'm confused as to why it would be."

"I saw you and Sunstreaker," Sam admitted, quietly. Sideswipe went very still, his false breathing stuttering to a stop and it made Sam continue in a rush of words. "I'm sorry, we weren't trying to spy, we just accidentally walked in and-"

"It's all right, Sam," he said heavily, his hands stirring back into motion. "My relationship with Sunstreaker is...complicated, at best. He surprised me, tonight." The hushed admission almost seemed reluctant, thoughtful. "I never would have expected him to nearly extinguish himself to save Bumblebee."

_Neither would I_, Sam didn't say, kept his words on the tip of his tongue because his dislike of Sunstreaker seemed churlish, at the very least, given what had happened.

"In fact, I-" Sideswipe broke off, stiffening against Sam. "We need to go, now. Optimus wants us at the infirmary.

The rush of fear in his blood sloughed off any exhaustion and Sam sat up straight, silently buckling his seatbelt as Sideswipe's holo vanished and he made a sharp turn, tearing down the road at breakneck speed that Sam only wished could be faster.

The silence in the infirmary was damning in its own way, as much as Ratchet's still, grave expression. The splashes of dark fluid on the floor surrounding Bee seemed inconsequential, unreal and Sam could only look up at Ratchet mutely, dimly noting that Optimus was crouched low next to Bumblebee, murmuring to him in soft tones

"Sam," Ratchet said, his voice modulator dissolving into static and never had Sam hated the sound of his own name as he did then, that one word speaking volumes, more information than it had any right to carry.

"Please, no," he begged almost silently, shaking his head in denial as Ratchet knelt in front of him, reaching out one large, fluid–stained hand. Sam flinched away from it, back into Sideswipe's steady touch and Ratchet recoiled instantly, seeming to catch himself.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Ratchet said, so gently and that very gentleness seemed an aberration. "Every time I remove a portion of the virus, it spreads it further. It's already done a great deal of damage to his short term memory processors." He hesitated.

"Tell him, Ratchet." Sideswipe said quietly when Sam couldn't seem to force the words out himself.

"I can't get to his main memory banks. Everything around them is already corrupted. If I were to push through, I would carry the virus directly into it and risk infecting myself. Sam, I'm sorry. There's really nothing I can do."

He felt the faint stinging in his eyes and was almost surprised by the rush of dampness on his face. It almost didn't seem like he could be crying because this couldn't be real. It couldn't. For so brief of a time he'd had Bumblebee with him and it felt like so much time wasted, time spent arguing or trying to figure things out could have simply been spent together and this couldn't be real, please, it wasn't.

"Sam?" Optimus's low, grave voice. "If you wish to speak to him, you need to do it quickly. Once his main processors are affected, he will no longer be able to hear or comprehend."

Stepping forward was like a dream, his hands reaching out like they belonged to someone else. So small in comparison to Bumblebee's large ones, resting still on the low table that Ratchet had set up for surgeries. He could see the fruitless results of Ratchet's work, parts of Bumblebee torn open in such a visceral way, the corrupted portions no different to his eyes than those that made him up at his base.

"I really do love you," Sam choked out, laying his small, trembling hands over one of Bumblebee's large fingers and the world exploded. Brilliantly white light, like an avalanche of snow falling in front of his eyes and dimly Sam heard shouts, voices echoing senselessly through his skull before he reached out to it and fell within.

_Bumblebee?_

__

Yes, I'm here.

Where are we?

Here.

Here?

Yes. With me.

Bee? Don't leave me, please, I love you.

_Sam..._

It was like swimming through syrup, gluey wetness holding him down and Sam was too tried to struggle against it, and besides, it was warm, warm and comfortable and he could rest here a while if he wanted, he could, and-

"Sam, come on now, you can open your eyes."

When he tried, he found he could, blinking in the too-bright light. Ratchet's face was close to his own, his eyes glowing eerily in a way that meant he was scanning. Sam kept still even as he blinked in confusion, his body aching in a way that was entirely unpleasant.

"Wha-" It came out as a sort of croak and with surprisingly dexterity for so large a being, Ratchet plucked a glass of water from the side table and offered it to him. Blissfully cold and Sam drank it eagerly, thirst distracting him from his confusion over the various tubes threaded into his arms. For the first time, he noticed that he was wearing a hospital gown and he felt like he'd spent three days on the floor of a taxi.

"What happened?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"That's a question I've been asking myself," Ratchet said, tartly. "Quite frankly, I was more expecting to be attending a memorial ceremony rather than tending to a ward full of patients but I can't say I find it disagreeable."

Memory came back in a flood and the glass slipped from Sam's nerveless fingers, shattering on the ground. "Bumblebee-"

"-is resting in the next room," Ratchet finished. "And he's recovering quite well, as a matter of fact. Much better than you would expect from someone who was nearly scrap a week ago."

"A week-!"

"Yes, you've been unconscious for a full Earth week. My sensors just indicated that you were returning to consciousness." Ratchet busied himself with cleaning up the broken glass. "I was starting to get concerned but all your systems were normal. All you seemed to require was rest."

"But..." Sam broke off, his muzzy thoughts not catching up easily. "What happened?"

"As best as I can decipher, your immune system overloaded the virus and rendered it defunct. You have some of Bumblebee's receptors on you, even in you, I see." He gestured at the tattoo circling Sam's bicep. "Contact with Bumblebee kept them powered and eventually, through contact, they had an affinity to you. You probably gained more every time he touched you but they are so tiny, you hardly would have noticed. When you touched Bumblebee that night, they linked with his system and the virus infected you as well. But it was unable to adapt to your organic immune system. Your systems were able to destroy the pathogens and through your link with Bumblebee, his defense systems were able to identify the processes and react accordingly."

Sam was fairly sure that all of those words were English. Pretty sure. "Huh?"

The sound Ratchet made could have been amusement. "I believe in generic terms, when you touched him, he infected you with the virus and your immune system saved you both. I've heard of organics gaining an attachment to their simi's receptors but I've never seen it used in this fashion."

"So...I have like, my own receptors now? What does that mean?"

"You won't be growing antenna if that's your concern," Ratchet said dryly. "To you, it means very little. As you have no way to communicate with them, you can't consciously affect them. They'll likely boost your immune system and they'll respond to Bumblebee's command if you wanted something specific, possibly another tattoo?" He tilted his head as if listening to something just out of Sam's range of hearing. "As stimulating as this conversation is, there is someone who is most eager to see you and I'm afraid if I don't take you to him, he's going to start tearing out walls. If I may?"

It only took a moment for Ratchet to unplug Sam from a the beeping machinery surrounding him. Only the IV remained when he was done, one last uncomfortable tube in Sam's arm, and then Ratchet pushed him carefully through the door and into the main room. Sam could see glimpses of Bumblebee before he came into full view, gleaming yellow and black and it seemed impossible to think how near he'd come to never seeing that again.

"Now, here he is. Will you please remain still?" Ratchet said irritably. "I'd like the hours I spent recalibrating your systems to not go to waste."

"Yes, sir," Low, husky voice, still rusty from previous damage and it was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever heard. Blue optics focused on him, brightening visibly as they moved over him. He barely heard the door click shut as Ratchet left, all his attention focused on the being in front of him."

"Hey," Sam said, softly.

"Hey," Bee echoed, amusement vibrating in his voice, and suddenly this was so not enough. Carefully, Sam slipped out of the bed, wobbling on shaking knees and he heard Bee chirrup in alarm, ignored it as he gathered up his IV stand and stumbled over to him. He felt like an old man, at least a million years old and screw it if Optimus was that old, he was human. Leaning against the large metal table that served as Bumblebee's sickbed, Sam had to rest a moment, taking a deep breath before he caught a handhold on Bumblebee's side and started to climb. A large metal hand gently closed around him, boosting him up so he could curl up on Bee's chest. It was not comfortable, cold metal and hard bits poking at him in tender places but he felt better anyway. A blanket settled lightly over him and that helped immeasurably, the metal beneath him warming quickly enough that Sam suspected Bee was helping it along.

"Bumblebee?" Sam murmured, sighing as one metal finger stroked lightly down his back.

"Yes, Sam?"

"I love you." It seemed important to say it now, to let those words finally be between them properly.

The finger on his back went still for a moment before it resumed its gentle stroking. "Yes, I know."

"You know?" Sam moved to prop his head on his chin, looking up into Bee's optics.

"You told me fifty-seven times while Ratchet was attempting to circumvent the virus," Bumblebee told him.

"You counted?"

"I saved the voice files," Bee admitted, softly. "I was so very cold and alone, but I could hear you, Sam. You saved me."

"I heard," Sam said, sleepily. The warm metal of Bee's chest plate beneath his hands was slick to the touch, his fingers skimming over the smoothness. "Can you even feel this?"

"Yes, after a fashion." Sam could feel the vibration of Bumblebee's voice modulator as he spoke. "It's not how you understand sensation. It doesn't feel bad or good, it just is. We are not tactile, our intimacy takes place entirely within. It's organics who taught us how touch can bring pleasure." Soft, tired laugh. "You taught me."

"Couldn't it feel good, if you wanted it to?"

"I suppose. Why would you want it to? I can hardly make love to you in this form and I suspect Ratchet would not approve of such activity even if I could."

"You're touching me and it feels good. It doesn't have to be sexual, you know."

"All right." Softly.

More vibrations beneath his fingertips and for just a moment it was like Sam could feel...something. Some little echo in the back of his head that was too quiet to hear. It vanished as quickly as he felt it and he knew the exact moment Bumblebee began to feel, the quiet sigh of pleasure all the evidence he needed. For long moments, they touched each other, gentle caresses that spoke of emotion more than need and all too soon, Sam fell asleep, curled up against Bumblebee. Large metal fingers eased their pressure but never ceased, stroking the fragile human body so close to him and Bumblebee kept his scanners focused on that small form, focused on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

-finis-


	13. Interruptions in the Key of C

Interruptions in the Key of C  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

Of all the duties that Ratchet performed, calibration was one of the most delicate. On a weapon, the tiniest flaw or error could determine the lifespan of one of his fellow Autobots. Adjusting the energon output of a fuel capacitor was particularly delicate; energon being highly volatile, particularly in the more impure form they were forced to use until the refining process was perfected. It required the steadiest of hands, the sharpest concentration, to make the minuscule changes without causing it to literally blow up in his face.

"Is he awake? They said he was awake, is he all right?"

And before he began again, Ratchet was going to make sure every door to the infirmary was locked.

"He's resting now, Mikaela," Ratchet said, glancing up just long enough to see her expression wilt. Before he could return his attention to his work, the figure standing next to her caught his notice, obviously a holo form, as the humans had dubbed it. Hardly an appropriate term but none of the human languages had a word that Ratchet would consider an equivalent. How they managed to accomplish anything with such limited vocabularies was a question for another time. That this particular holo was holding Mikaela's hand made him narrow his gaze, running a quick scan and if he'd had eyebrows, he would have raised them. Prowl was an unexpected companion, particularly so quickly after Jazz had fallen-

Ratchet dismissed it as none of his concern. He'd involved himself in the intimate lives of more than enough beings at the moment and he had little interest in any other entanglements. Prowl could handle his own affairs.

"I just wanted to see him for a minute," Mikaela asked, her eyes pleading and Ratchet nearly relented. He'd allowed only select visitors this past week and Mikaela had not been on that very small list. A few moments wouldn't hurt and yet...

He switched his inner visualization to include the recovery room and frowned to see his patient was not where he had left him, was, in fact, curled up sleeping with the other patient. On top of the other patient and in a moment, Ratchet would return him to his own bed. Not that he believed Bumblebee would let the boy fall but they both needed their rest and Bumblebee was unlikely to do so if he was busy protecting his...there was hardly a word for that in the Human languages either.

"I'm afraid he's asleep and I refuse to disturb him when he has only just started recovering from his ordeal," Ratchet hedged, trying to weigh Mikaela's disappoint with Sam's embarrassment at being caught in such a position by his former girlfriend. More and more, Ratchet was wishing he'd simply let Bumblebee fry a few circuits and never involved himself in their relationship. It would have been easier to spend an hour every morning replacing them than to detangle himself from this wreck. But since he _was_ involved, he would _be_ involved and keeping this from getting any messier would be the best option.

Mikaela's disappointment was palpable and Ratchet relented slightly, offering, "If you like, I shall contact you when he awakens again? If Prowl will be with you, I can send the message to him," he added, ironically, and the way Prowl flushed and glanced away was almost interesting enough to question. Almost.

"That would be fine," Prowl said hurriedly, interpreting the sharpness in Ratchet's gaze correctly and he gingerly tugged Mikaela away as quickly as she would allow. She followed him reluctantly, pausing to shout back, "You better call me, Ratchet, you've been putting me off for days!"

"Yes, yes," Ratchet agreed absently, already focusing back on his calibrations. He had just begun the delicate process of soldering the transmogrifier when the door slammed open again and he nearly cut off his own finger with the laser knife.

"Have you powered him back on yet?" Sideswipe asked anxiously, his optics glowing sharply with his concern.

With great deliberation, Ratchet turned off the laser knife, set it aside, and turned to face Sideswipe before he spoke, clearly and slowly. "No, I have not, and as I didn't contact you to tell you I had, I fail to see why you are here checking. Would you care to explain?"

Sideswipe had the grace to look embarrassed. "I just thought-you said that you might be able to today and-"

"He's going to be fine, Sideswipe, but as of this moment, he still has some damage that needs seen to. Fried circuitry, stripped gears, overstressed struts," he ticked each one off on a finger. "This list goes on. And much as I would like to spend all of my time working on him, it's better to let his internal maintenance do some of the repairs before I begin ripping out parts. Everything I remove, I have to replicate to replace and we do not have the resources on this planet for me to do that efficiently. Better to repair than to replace at this point."

"I know," Sideswipe murmured, "I do know."

"I'll contact you as soon as I have him back online. For now, I have a great deal of other work to get done. But first," Ratchet added, coolly, before Sideswipe could turn away. "I'll thank you to not discuss what you believe to be my status as an emotional cripple with the human multitudes."

For a moment, Sideswipe said nothing, his confusion obvious, then awareness dawned. "Sam is hardly a multitude."

"Be that as it may, I'd prefer that you keep your perceptions of me to yourself.""

"Oh, come on, Ratchet," Sideswipe said, exasperated. "Sam was upset. I had to tell him something. Did you really think that you'd be able to give Bumblebee a quick training session and Sam would understand, and it would end at that?"

"My concern was with Bumblebee keeping his circuits intact, not with the status of their relationship. I expected that Bumblebee would take care of the emotional aspects and once again, I was wrong. I continually find myself playing the role of counselor when my focus is supposed to be on physical repairs!"

Sideswipe laughed, softly, "His circuits are probably the least of your concerns. You have no idea how strong the emotions can be in a simi relationship and they are far more dangerous than any blown circuit." He leaned against Ratchet's work table and every item on it wobbled dangerously. "You've never tried it, you have no idea how it feels to have one of them love you."

"Oh, yes. I'm certain Sunstreaker felt nothing but pure emotion for every organic being he imitated in order to coerce them into a sexual relationship."

Sideswipe flinched, recoiling physically and internally from his words, strongly enough that Ratchet felt the strength of his firewalls increasing instinctively.

It was a rare thing for Ratchet to regret his words. He knew that others thought of him as curt and perhaps even uncaring but what he said, he meant. In this case, however, his honestly could have been gentler. "My apologies; that was uncalled for."

"It's true." Sideswipe said, so softly. "But I wish you wouldn't use Sunstreaker as a measure for Sam and Bumblebee. Call me when he's awake?"

"I will," Ratchet agreed, and part of him still ached in regret over his words. But he had little enough time as it was and none at all to wallow in his regret and instead he returned his attention to his work. One component was properly adjusted and he was beginning on a second when a soft, deep voice came from the other door, startling him. "You were quite short with him."

Ratchet slapped down his laser knife in exasperation. At this rate, he'd be working on the same fuel capacitor until the return of Primus. "I do not need personal assessments from someone who can't even handle their own entanglements and I certainly don't need him to share those assessments with others."

"Part of those entanglements was by your recommendation." Prime reminded him.

"I'm well aware of that." Ratchet sighed. He set his work aside and stood. Better to be far away from a volatile fuel source when he relayed this information. "As fascinating as it would be to discuss this, Sideswipe isn't the reason I contacted you. I preferred to speak of it in person." He and Optimus were not of a height, but few Autobots were. Ratchet had to tip his head up to look up at their leader, studying his form. With his facial protection removed, the lines of his face exposed and faintly reflecting the light of his optics, it was easy to see his concern. So much of his emotions were exposed in his face; perhaps that was why Optimus preferred to wear his facial gear even when he wasn't actively engaged in battle.

Anxiety was inching its way into that concern and Ratchet did a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was in listening distance before he said, low, "When Bumblebee was infected, I discovered that Sunstreaker had a firewall that I couldn't access. A particularly effective one; if he hadn't been so engaged in assisting Bumblebee, I might not have been able to bypass it."

Prime frowned deeply and switched to wifi, allowing Ratchet a private access. _Did you run a scan on him?_

_Of course. It didn't turn up anything particularly incriminating. If he erased it, he did a very effective job of it. It's always possible he was simply uncomfortable with me having complete access to his systems,_ Ratchet offered.

_He doesn't have the luxury of his discomfort. Remove it. _

_I already did and I inserted a back door program that only I can access if he decides to create another._

"Fine." Prime said curtly, returning to normal speech. "Disable any capacity he has for outgoing transmissions and run another scan on his databanks. From now on he will partner with Ironhide when he is on duty. Off-duty, he is confined to quarters."

Ratchet stared, taken aback. "That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"No, I do not or I wouldn't have ordered it."

Ratchet's silence spoke volumes and Prime sighed, relenting. "I have always been grateful for Sunstreaker's assistance when every available weapon was needed. But I have never trusted that weapon to stay facing the right direction."

"Sideswipe hasn't reported anything untoward," Ratchet said neutrally.

"Sideswipe has his own entanglements, as you noted, and his opinions where his brother is concerned are biased. Be that as it may, I will speak to him. I don't want to lose two soldiers if he chooses to side with his brother."

"He won't."

"You seem very confident."

"After you spend the equivalent of years wrist-deep in someone else's circuits, you get to know them quite well," Ratchet said wryly.

"Understood. I've never thought Sideswipe would abandon us for the Decepticons but the dedication one has to a brother...that I understand all too well." A hesitation. "I've been meaning to speak to you about another matter. We've received a few more transmissions from other Autobot contingents."

"Have we?" Ratchet sat back down at his work bench and turned his attention to his tools. Perhaps the smaller laser knife would be more effective; at the very least it would lessen the chances of his removing his own limbs by accident. He heard Prime moving behind him, stepping closer.

"We haven't received any transmissions from Ark-36 yet."

"Nor have we for a long time," Ratchet said calmly. "I am aware. Prowl updates me frequently."

"Does he?"

"Like so many others, he seems to feel I require a keeper." Acidly. "And since his detachment was the one most recently in contact with Ark-36, he seems to feel some responsibility towards it."

Large hands settled on his shoulders, stilling him with gentle pressure. "When was the last time you recharged?"

"There is nothing wrong with my energy banks." Ratchet shrugged off his light touch. Such a human gesture. "Do not attempt to engage me in intimacy after bringing up my former relations."

Prime sounded chagrined. "I wasn't-"

"You were and I'll remind you that you just assigned me extra duty. To use a human turn of phrase, don't get your hopes up."

"I'd like to think I was offering comfort to an old friend."

There was the lightest of rebuke to his tone and it was difficult not to respond to that, to gentle his own tone. He'd injured enough companions with his voice modulator for the day. "You were. And you do. Now, if you want me to get those scans done, I'll need to get started."

"Very well. Don't forget to get take care of yourself or the next patient here will be you."

He waved off the caution impatiently but before Optimus could leave, Ratchet called out. "Prime."

He heard Prime hesitate, kept his optics on his work. "I gave up on Wheeljack being alive some time ago. I don't need any of you to continually coddle me about it."

"Ratchet-"

"You may live in hope. I prefer reality and I am content in it. These continual reminders of what isn't do not comfort me. Please, stop. If there is a transmission from Ark-36, I will join everyone in rejoicing. I do not care to hear when there are none."

"Of course," Prime murmured.

"Besides, I'm trying hard enough to blow this damned fuel capacitor up on my own. If Wheeljack was here, we would already be cleaning up the remains of the table."

He looked up enough to see Optimus's mouth quirked into a smile. "There is some truth to that."

The door closed quietly behind him and Ratchet focused, again, on the fuel capacitor. Something seemed to be wrong with the laser knife, a faint tremor that could have explosive results and he finally pushed the capacitor aside, resting his head in his hand. He'd meant his comment on Wheeljack to be amusing, a diversion.

With a vicious gesture, he shoved the capacitor on the floor and the explosion was loud enough that his scanners detected his patients stirring uneasily. Very softly, he whispered, "I would be happy to rebuild this entire building, Wheeljack. The entire city wouldn't be too high a price."

His words echoed dully in the empty room and he stood, bending down to salvage what he could from the twisted, smoking pile of circuits half-buried into the floor. A few chosen tools, a few parts and he began the tedious process of rebuilding the fuel capacitor. It was not quite an hour later when yet another being interrupted his work, but with the same quiet thoughtfulness as they had every day that Ratchet had allowed them to visit. He nodded at her politely, a gesture that was returned, and he didn't bother to watch her slip through the doors to the recovery room.

His sensors told him that today was not going to be a day like any other, an alarm warning him that the heart rate of his patient had soared and Sam's raised voice was loud enough to be heard through several doors even by a human.

"Mom?"

-finis-

PS: My husband is a huge Transformer fan and he insisted that I had to use the word 'transmogrifier' somewhere. So I did, just for him. ;)


	14. Half to Rise, Half to Fall

Half to Rise, Half to Fall  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

The first thing Sam became aware of as he slowly woke was that he was warm. It was a drowsy sort of wakening, that syrup-heavy sleepiness hadn't quite vanished the first time he'd awoken and he surfaced only just enough to feel the skin-warmed metal beneath his cheek. Absently, Sam stroked the hard edge just next to his head, rubbing his thumb across the smoothness. A faint humming moan came from beneath him, vibrating through him, louder when he increased the pressure.

"Sam..." He felt it as much as heard it, Bumblebee's voice a low pulse through him and he hummed a soft reply, sighing at the feel of one large fingertip lightly trailing down his back.

It took a moment for the soft creaking sound to register, longer for it to filter through his brain that the quiet shuffling sound was footsteps but the screech, well, that he heard a lot more than he'd ever wanted.

"Samuel James Witwicky, you get down from there this instant!"

"Mom?" Sam scrambled to sit up, years of childhood training him that use of the full name meant trouble. The sound of two humans shrieking in the near vicinity was enough to startle even a twenty-foot robot and Bumblebee jolted beneath him, automatically reaching up to catch the human perched so precariously on his chest. In his surprise, he grabbed at Sam a little too hard and slapped him back down on his chest, knocked the wind out of him.

"Bumblebee, you should know better!" His mom scolded loudly, hands on her hips as she shouted up at them.

"Mom, I-" Sam wheezed, still trying to suck air back into his poor lungs, staring down at his mother through watering eyes. It almost seemed strange that she looked exactly as he remembered and Sam had to remind himself that it had only been a few weeks since he'd seen her. It didn't seem quite possible that so short a time had passed, only a few weeks but a lifetime ago.

"He's only just starting to recover," she continued, her voice echoing up at them. "He doesn't need you encouraging him so...no, don't you pick him up, Ratchet said that you aren't supposed to be exerting yourself, either. Sam, you sit right there until Ratchet comes in here. Ratchet, get in here this instant!"

The door was already opening as she shouted, Ratchet timing his entrance with the perfection of one who knows better than to come when the shouting first began.

"Is there a problem?" Ratchet asked, politely, from the door.

"Yes, there is, do you see where Sam is?"

"I do."

"I would have thought you'd be keeping a better eye on your patients! I know you aren't all that familiar with humans yet but you should realize that kinky sex..." she gestured impatiently. "...things should be avoided right after a person has nearly died."

"Of course, you're right." Contritely and Sam stared, because this was going from sitcom right into sci-fi. Maybe Ratchet had gotten infected with some of that virus after all.

"We weren't-" Sam started protesting, broke off because what the hell was he supposed to _say_.

"You weren't yet, but you were probably both thinking about it. You both need time to recover so get down here right now! There will be no robotic sex..." she flapped a hand at them. "...sex things while you're both still recovering! I know that Ratchet already spoke to you, Bumblebee; you should be ashamed of encouraging him. No, don't climb down yourself, you haven't eaten a bite of real food in a week, you're going to break your neck."

"Allow me," Ratchet reached out, held his hand in a cup that Sam reluctantly crawled into, if only to make his mother stop saying the word sex.

"Are you feeling all right?" Sam whispered.

"Your mother is quite a formidable human," Ratchet murmured. That wasn't a point Sam could argue. Gently, Ratchet settled him back into his own hospital bed, his mother rushing over to them and tucking the blankets around him in suffocating proportions.

"You couldn't tell me that my mom is here?" Sam hissed, glaring at Ratchet and then adding Bumblebee into it because he'd so obviously known. Ratchet gave him a very human-like shrug.

"I had assumed you would realize," Ratchet said. "You nearly died; should I have sent them a sympathy card afterward to inform them of your untimely demise? Or would you have preferred a singing telegram?"

"You said my immune system took care of the virus!"

"Not instantaneously," Ratchet said irritably. "It took nearly twenty-four hours for you to stabilize. In that time, we contacted your parents and had them brought to Autobot city. I'm grateful that we did, your mother has been of great assistance to me. It's not like I have any experience in bedpans and sponge baths."

If he could have physically crawled through the floor, Sam would have started digging a hole right about then.

"Oh, don't look like that," his mother scolded, one cool hand pressing against Sam's forehead testingly. "I used to change your diapers, young man. He was such a clean boy," she said confidentially to Ratchet. "Potty trained so easily."

Ratchet nodded solemnly, the faintest smirk curling one side of his mouth. "I'm sure."

It was that moment in time when Sam began to truly wish he had died. Anything had to be better than this.

"Still a little warm," Mom murmured, tipping his chin up so she could push back one eyelid and peer inside. Dismally, Sam let her manhandle him.

"His temperature is 99.1 degrees in Fahrenheit," Ratchet confirmed. He raised one hand and a beam of red light swept over Sam briefly. "However, the virus count is extinguished. I'm assuming his immune system is simply overacting to the invasion and that is what is causing the fever. Nothing that a little more rest shouldn't cure."

"Do you hear that?" she said triumphantly. "The doctor says you need rest and you aren't likely to get much in here. Back to your own room until Ratchet says you're better."

"Ratchet was the one who brought me in here," Sam said irritably, something his mother clearly ignored as she gathered up his IV stand and started pushing him towards the door. He managed to give Bumblebee a plaintive look before he was pushed through the swinging doors and back down the hall into the human side of the infirmary. His mother pushed the bed into his room as expertly as a nurse, settling his IV stand and straightening all the tubing with gentle efficiency.

"Mom?" Sam started, cut off as his mother interrupted.

"Now, I want you to get some rest. I know you're probably sick of being in bed, but if you promise to get a little more sleep, I'll see if I can get you some books or maybe a television."

"Mom-"

"I'm sure those army boys would be happy to set something up," she continued, smoothing his blankets, tucking him in so firmly he was half convinced he'd wake up a butterfly. "You've had a lot of people stopping by to check on you, you know. Mikaela is going to be happy to hear you've finally woken up."

"Mom, please-"

For the first time, his mother went still, her hands resting lightly on his blanketed leg. "Please don't say anything. Let me go first." She sighed, looking down for a long moment before she lifted her head and clearly met his eyes.

"I know you feel awful about everything that's happened and I'm sure you still owe me and your father a few explanations but I shouldn't have let your father go on like he did last time." She made a face. "You know how he gets, all that defensive anger."

"I should have just told you," Sam managed, working the words past the thickness in his throat.

"Well, let's not worry about that right now," Mom said. She stroked his hair lightly, reminding Sam of other fevers, late nights of sickness and the gentle soothing touch of his mother's cool hands. "Your father is out running the roads with...is it Ironhide? I think he rather enjoys patrolling. When he gets back, if you're feeling better, maybe we'll talk a little more."

"I'm really sorry."

"I know. But you have no idea how proud I am of you, sweetie." She laughed softly and Sam managed to open his eyes enough to see her dearly loved face smiling at him. "I always knew you'd do great things, but I always thought it would be along the lines of being a doctor or a lawyer. I didn't expect you to save the world when you were still a teenager."

"Didn't really mean to," Sam murmured, sleepily. "I love you, mom."

"I love you, too, Sammie." With a last gentle pat, she stood, leaning down to brush a kiss across his forehead before she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

The light coming in between the shades was much dimmer when Sam startled awake again, half-sitting up in bed as he blinked sleepily, trying to get his bearings. Another shout like the one that had awoken him echoed down the hallway, as well as an answering shout, raised voices spitting angry Cybertronian words.

Ratchet's voice he recognized, even if he didn't understand the words, loud and annoyed. The other voice wasn't as clear to him but the anger in it he understood perfectly. He winced as that voice rose to sharp pitch, even as he strained harder to listen, trying to identify its owner. If he concentrated, just beneath it, he could almost hear a faint scratchy, staticy sound, like a doubled radio station on a bad tuner. Words came in to focus beneath the shouting, ones that he could actually understand.

_"..if you can't remain calm, I'm going to power you down. You aren't going to undo all of my hard work with a tantrum." _

__

"I want to speak with Optimus, now!"

_"You'll be speaking with Primus if you don't stop it, now sit down and..."_

Sudden warm weight behind him startled him out of his focus, the shouts fading down. Strong arms slipped around him, pulling him against a hard, decidedly naked body.

"Bumblebee?" Sam hissed, trying to wriggle around so he could look.

"Who else?" Soft, wet kisses pressed against the back of his neck made him shiver, squirming against the confines of Bumblebee's arms and the blankets.

"What are you doing?"

"I believe your mother said we shouldn't engage in any kinky robot sex. She said nothing about nice, clean human sex, did she?"

"Ratchet is going to kill us." Weakly, because dammit, Bumblebee's mouth was wet and clever against his ear, the sharp edge of teeth against the soft lobe almost enough to cause pain but not quite.

Soft laughter. "Ratchet is the one who turned my holographic projector back on."

One hand was creeping stealthily into his pajama bottoms and at the first soft touch of Bee's fingertips Sam gave up. Hey, if Ratchet had given them implied consent, he wasn't about to turn away any nice, clean sex. Tipped his head back just a little, Sam gasped as Bee quickly took the hint, mouthing his way down Sam's neck with slippery little licks.

"Let me-" Whispered hotly against his neck and Sam whimpered, lifting up enough for Bumblebee to tug his pajamas down. The hot, damp pressure of Bee's cock pressed firmly against the small of his back, edging lower as Bumblebee adjusted himself against him. Sam couldn't help but tense, just a little, as it nudged lightly into the cleft of his ass but it slipped lower still, sliding between Sam's legs as he obeyed the pressure of Bee's hand on his knee, pushing his legs together until he could hold the hot length between his legs.

"There!" Bumblebee exhaled sharply, "Oh, there...that's..."

"Oh, that feels-" Sam echoed weakly, biting his lip at the feel of Bumblebee's cock nudging lightly at his balls, gliding slickly between his legs in a mimic of sex. One of Bumblebee's arms was beneath his head like a makeshift pillow and Sam scrabbled to catch that hand in one of his, the other tight on Bumblebee's other forearm as he delicately wrapped his hand around Sam's aching erection, matching the hard strokes to his own thrusts. Sam forgot about the shouting, about his mom, about anything to do with Ratchet and lost himself in a little kinky human sexual interaction.

"Beautiful...boy...so good..." Bumblebee groaned, lapsing briefly into a language that Sam didn't understand but he could get the gist of it, positively pornographic words making up for Bee's lack of speech for so long.

It was over far too quick, Bumblebee pushing him easily to the edge and letting him tip over it, gasping at the sweetness of orgasm even as he dimly heard Bumblebee's soft curses, felt him shudder hotly, jerking in his own pleasure.

"I love you," so softly but Sam still heard it, still answered it, choking out his reply and slumping back into Bumblebee's comforting arms.

Bumblebee sighed contentedly, nuzzling Sam's ear, "There is something to be said for sex of the non-kinky variety."

"I think my mom would argue that any sex with you is probably a little kinky," Sam panted, closing his eyes and twining his fingers with Bumblebee's free hand. A thought started trickling into his head, post-coital contentment slowing it but it managed to twist its way through, banging into Sam's thought cortex hard enough that he sat up, almost quickly enough to fall out of the bed if Bumblebee hadn't had a firm grip on him.

"You did it!" Sam exclaimed. "We had sex and you didn't power down or anything!"

"I know," Bumblebee said, with a certain smugness. "When we linked during the virus attack, it helped me align my receptors with yours. With a better understanding of the human nervous system, I could correct for my previous errors."

"My receptors?" Sam frowned. "I thought they were all yours."

Bumblebee's eyes flicked away. "They are. It's rather complicated to explain and I believe you still need your rest."

Okay, that was avoidance of an epic proportion. But if anything were too funky, Ratchet would surely have already told him so Sam settled for a quick glare before he settled back down on the bed. And maybe he still wasn't quite well because it was all too easy to curl up in the warm blankets and Bumblebee's equally warm embrace and drift.

"What was with all the shouting earlier, anyway?" Sam asked sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. "Ratchet seemed pretty pissed." And not at him, for once.

"How did you-" Bumblebee fell silent and his arms tightened around Sam, almost infinitesimally. "As far as I can gather, Sunstreaker is displeased with his confinement."

"I would have thought he'd be long since out of here."

"Unfortunately not. The damage he caused himself was extensive." Grudgingly, and Sam didn't have to guess that Bumblebee wasn't happy that Sunstreaker had probably saved his life.

"Have you talked to him at all?"

"No," Bee said, shortly. "And I am not about to right now. Go. To. Sleep."

"Bossy," Sam complained, but he barely made it out before a yawn. Snuggling in, he drifted back to sleep, briefly hoping that Bee kept better tabs on security this time. If his mom walked in on them again, they'd probably be making wishes for an Decepticon attack, non-kinky human sex or not.

-finis-


	15. Moments of Forgiveness

Moments of Forgiveness  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

Waking up to suckage was starting to get to be a very bad habit and one that Sam would be very happy to break. It couldn't have been more than an hour since the last time he'd been rudely awakened by angry shouts. This time it was to Ratchet's dour face and a steaming bowl of soup that smelled less than appealing, like it was cream of dirty socks or something.

It was almost a relief that Ratchet didn't offer it to him, instead setting the tray, absurdly small in his enormous hand, on the little table next to the bed.

His relief was short-lived. "You need to eat something but I'd like to run a scan on you first. Just hold still for a moment."

"Yeah, sure," Sam mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. The bed next to him was conspicuously empty, not even a hint of warmth to the sheets. It made him wonder just how implied Ratchet's permission had been for Bee's little afternoon delight.

The sweeping red light of Ratchet's scanner flared gently over him and Sam fought the urge to squirm. Now that he'd had almost too much sleep, he was more than ready to get the hell out of here and back into the real world.

"Ratchet, I don't think I can stay here anymore. This is going to drive me nuts."

"You haven't been conscious long enough to be stir crazy."

"I'm serious, I am so over this, Ratchet!" Sam exclaimed. "Can't I go back to my own place, at least?"

Ratchet didn't even look up. "No."

"Oh, come on!"

"You can't go back to your quarters because I know exactly what you will do," Ratchet said tersely. "You will disobey every order I give you because you have no motivation to obey them. You will do something foolish, overexert yourself, and you will end up back here and I will have to begin the tedious project of overseeing your recovery once again. So, the answer is no!" He ended sharply as Sam opened his mouth to protest.

"If you're so concerned about me overexerting myself, why did you turn Bee's holographic...uh...thing back on?" Because even if he hadn't given Bumblebee permission for any hands on activities, he had to have known what Bee would do. It wasn't like any great mystery of the universe. He might as well have just left a tube of KY in the side table.

"Bumblebee is foolish, inconsiderate, and careless where his own health is concerned. Your health, on the other hand, he would never consider risking. It also does him some good to have contact with you. His short term memory processors aren't recovering as quickly as I would like and the stimulation is good for them."

A chill went through Sam. "Wha-his memory is messed up?"

It was beyond disconcerting to see Ratchet immediately switch from grouchy and obstinate to gently soothing. "That isn't at all what I said. It's difficult for me to describe this in terms you will understand." He considered it for a long moment. "We have numerous processors for a variety of functions and when one is damaged, another takes over its duties until such a time as repairs can be made. At the moment, I am allowing his internal repair functions to handle it because replacing them is a very invasive procedure and I would like to avoid it if at all possible. Consider it similar to organ transplanting but without the human possibility of rejection."

"Okay," Sam said numbly, sitting with his hands loose in his lap, his fingers twisting into the rough cotton hospital sheets. White against his hands, pale crisp cotton broken by the red flare of Ratchet's scanner as it continued on its path, and a flash of memory flittered in front of Sam's eyes, of Sunstreaker, wet darkness creeping down his face, dripping onto the yellow of Bee's armoring.

"How's Sunstreaker?" Sam asked, belatedly. He was sure they'd have told him if Sunstreaker had died or something. Pretty sure, anyway. Still, considering that he'd saved Bumblebee, hurting himself pretty badly in the process, it seemed like a good thing to ask about him.

"Cranky," Ratchet said dryly, his optics flickering in a way that was probably the Autobot version of an eye roll. It made him remember the argument earlier, staticky words that he'd sort of understood but-

"You seem to be recovering expeditiously," Ratchet announced, stepping back with the faint hum of hydraulics as he poked buttons on his arm, studying whatever readings his scanner had given him.

"Does that mean I'm getting better?"

"You're fine." Much to his dismay, Ratchet finished whatever he was doing and picked up the tray again, depositing it firmly on Sam's lap. "I'll make you a deal. If you can eat properly today and demonstrate your mobility in terms of avoiding a bedpan, I will allow you to return to your own quarters. Provided that Bumblebee and your mother check in on you frequently."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam agreed hastily. Stuck in bed with Bumblebee...and his mom. Suddenly, moving to his quarters didn't sound quite as appealing as it had before.

He fished the spoon out of the soup anyway and licked the handle clean, making a face at the taste. "It would be easier to eat properly if this soup wasn't so disgusting."

"Do you see a chef's hat on my head?" Ratchet asked mildly. "You'll have to complain to the supply sergeant if the quality is lacking. All I do is open the can and use an infrared beam to warm it."

Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're feeding me radiated soup?"

"Of course not. Do you have any idea how much extra work that would involve for me? Now eat."

Another half pause to consider the effects of radiated soup on human beings, brief thoughts leaning in the direction of the Hulk, before Sam shrugged and started eating again. At least if he was enormous and green he'd be on a level playing field with giant robots.

Weirder was Ratchet standing there and watching him eat. Apparently table manners weren't something that a species who didn't eat would find important. "Your father will be here soon," Ratchet observed. "It's almost time for his shift to begin."

"Mm," Sam mumbled, sucking sock-flavored soup off his spoon. Yeah, a long chat with his father was just what he needed. That would help with the digestion.

As if just thinking about him was enough to summon him forth like a middle-aged balding genie with ugly sandals, Sam's dad stepped into the doorway, hands buried deep in the pockets of his khaki shorts.

"Knock, knock," he said, his eyes on Ratchet.

"Mr. Witwicky," Ratchet replied, ever cordial so long as he wasn't talking to Sam. "I'm sure you'll be glad to know he's doing much better."

"He'd have to be after last week," his dad grumbled, cementing his kinship to Ratchet as a grumpy old curmudgeon. He still hadn't looked at Sam, who had quietly set his spoon into his bowl and pushed the tray aside. His appetite had fled at the first mention of his dad. The memory of his anger - perfectly righteous anger, Sam had deserved every word of it, he knew - but still, he was young enough that parental disapproval cut far deeper than any other could.

"True," Ratchet conceded, then went out of his way to prove the theory of life being unfair by adding. "I'm sure you and Sam have a great deal you'd like to discuss, I'll just leave you to it."

It was sort of amazing how having several tons of machinery leaving the room didn't seem to empty it. Instead, the very air between them seemed heavy, pregnant with words that hadn't been spoken and ones that had, and Sam couldn't think of a thing to say. Giant alien robots, dad, and oh, yeah, sort of gay for one, too, might want to kiss those dreams about grandkids goodbye. Oh, and did I mention those other alien robots that might be trying to kill you, wouldn't want to forget that detail-

Somehow, there didn't seem to be enough words in the English language to express all that.

His father hadn't moved from the doorway, hands still in his pockets as he studied the floor.

"Dad-" Sam started, choking a little on the words and he wished Bumblebee were there even if it made him a wuss for needing the support.

His father interrupted with a loud, world-weary sigh. "Son, there are times I wish I'd just sprung for the Porsche."

Just like that the tension evaporated. Laughter welled inside him like a leak had sprung and he was giggling helplessly, almost a sob, and Sam could feel he was shaking a little, maybe not quite as well as he'd tried to convince Ratchet. His father's answering chuckle was remarkably soothing and when he stepped into the room, close enough to ruffle Sam's hair the same way he'd done it since Sam was old enough to have hair, he knew it was all right. His mom might have needed to share some verbal bonding but a dad was one who just needed a little roughhousing.

"All right, kid, I've taken the ten-cent tour of this place enough times to know my way around. Ratchet said you might be able to go mobile today. Let's get you into your own bed. God knows you have to have better sheets than this place."

Somehow, getting out of the infirmary was a lot easier with his dad on his side of the escape party. Years of middle management had taught Ron Witwicky how to bulldoze his way through all obstacles, be they vegetable, mineral, or robotic, and he had soon commandeered a wheelchair and Ratchet's impatient voice was chasing them out the door.

It was a different experience to trek across the compound in a wheelchair and even the small amount of gravel made him grateful that most of Autobot City was paved. Surprising how lying around in bed for a week made a person pretty damned sore and every jarring bump brought those aches into sharp relief.

He drew the line at his father helping him into bed though. How he was supposed to get better if he was never allowed to do anything? It wasn't like he'd had a lot of muscle mass before, considering that the only exercise he got lately was from running for his life. At the very least he was capable of transferring himself a foot and a half from a chair to a bed.

His dad proved he was at the limit of his helpfulness by saying, "Get some rest. Your mom will come in a couple hours to check on you."

"What about-" _Bumblebee_, he almost said, biting it back at the last second because, okay, his parents knew, he knew they knew, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready to talk about it just yet. It was less about the alien robot boyfriend thing and more about the fact that there was a boyfriend at all. "Never mind," Sam mumbled, settling back into the pillows.

Unfortunately, his dad had never been as stupid as Sam had wished he was. "Your car is going to be here later. Ratchet said something about calibration." Ron frowned a little, tugging up the blanket over Sam's shoulders even though the room was warm. "Actually, he said a lot about calibration and some of the words he used would have given your mother a stroke if she'd heard them. Wish I knew what website he learned those from."

"Bumblebee has a flair for creative swearing, too," Sam ventured. Even if he wasn't willing to open the door on this conversation just yet, it didn't hurt to crack it open enough to peer outside.

His father gave him an answering smile and if it was a little tight around the edges, neither of them commented on it. "I'll bet. Get some sleep, kiddo."

"Sure thing. Night, dad." Sam flopped over, cramming his pillow under his head as his father slipped out the door. A little nap and Bumblebee would probably be here soon, and maybe there would be a little bit of fooling around of the slightly kinky variety, if Bee could be trusted enough to keep track of his mom, anyway. A little sleep and a little sex, all a guy needed for contentment.

Abruptly, his stomach rumbled noisily, calling outward to all things edible and tasty. All it'd had to eat was the sweaty sock soup and it was announcing its displeasure about that to anyone in a twenty foot radius. Okay, so maybe there was at least one other thing a guy needed. Sam sighed loudly and sat up, considering. It could be hours before his mom or Bumblebee showed up and how was he supposed to sleep when he was starving? Ratchet himself had wanted him to eat more. It wasn't like this place had room service.

That only meant one thing. He'd have to go get it himself. Ratchet hadn't specifically ordered him to stay in bed, and besides, he'd said himself that he fully expected Sam to disobey any orders, anyway. How could he get mad when Sam only proved him right?

Gingerly, Sam pushed himself to his feet, feeling a little wobbly and sore but on the whole, not so bad. Certainly not like he'd needed the wheelchair earlier to make the short trek to his quarters but in that case, it hadn't been worth arguing. Covert operations to the canteen needed to be sans wheels, unless you'd been born with them.

A quick sandwich and then back to bed, he decided, skinning quickly into jeans and a t-shirt, tying his shoes. That was the plan.

The sun was just slipping past the horizon as he sneaked outside, closing the door carefully behind him like the entire city would hear it shut, and turned around to immediately plow into a man walking past his quarters.

"Ooof," Sam grunted, stumbling to a stop. Soldiers here must be made tough, that had been remarkably similar to walking into a brick wall. A brick wall on steroids.

"You all right, Sam?" Familiar voice and Sam blinked, looking up into an unfamiliar crew-cut head.

"Ironhide?" Sam asked, hesitantly. A rather hideous grin spread over that broad face.

"Yeah, it's me. Not bad, eh?" He made a gesture that managed to indicate his entire body and head.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, staring. Good god, it was like looking at the birth of the word ugly. Like Ironhide had found pictures of all the toughest, ugliest humans that had ever lived and had made a sort of holographic Voltron of ugliness out of them.

Ironhide was beaming at him in stunning unattractiveness and pride.

"It's great," Sam told him promptly. Knowing Ironhide, this was just the sort of look he was going for. If he wanted flowers to collapse in his passing, he'd certainly succeeded.

"I hadn't heard you'd been released," Ironhide said, tilting his head curiously. Just wonderful. File this little escape plan on the very opposite side of covert.

"Yeah, yeah, just today," Sam hedged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Suddenly, getting food seemed like a bad idea. Like everyone there wouldn't know exactly who he was? Ratchet would know he was out of bed in ten seconds. Asking Ironhide was out, he'd want to know why Sam couldn't do it himself.

Inspiration struck. "Hey, do you have any idea where Sideswipe is?" Sideswipe would nab him some food and he probably wouldn't tattle on him.

"Probably in his berth. He's off active duty until Sunstreaker gets his act together."

"That sucks." It did. Sideswipe was probably going nuts.

"Say it again," Ironhide said agreeably. "It's the third building that way."

Sam thanked him and made a hasty exit before he saw anyone else who wanted to stop and chat. Like Mikaela or his mom, or geez, maybe even Ratchet although he seemed to stay pretty close to the infirmary. Better to not take chances.

The third building that way turned out to be a small, squat little thing that looked more like a warehouse than living quarters. Then again, Autobots often spent a great deal of time in the shape of a car, maybe being housed in a garage was preferable? It wasn't like they had a CD collection to haul around.

There was a human sized door on one side and a much larger garage-style door on another, both closed. Sam decided on the one that was more his height and a light touch on the knob revealed that it wasn't locked. He pushed it open a little, poking his head inside. "Sideswipe?"

"Look who's stopped in for a visit." Cool, silken voice rose from the shadows. Sam instinctively took a half-step backwards, the unpleasant associations with that voice almost enough to make him forget hunger.

His more rational mind pushed against it, demanding sustenance. He hesitated at the doorway, squinting against the shadows enough to see a figure in the darkness, no, two, one undeniably human and the other lower to the ground, gleaming a rich yellow. Sunstreaker in both of his forms. "What are you doing here?"

"Yes, I am fine, thank you. Recovering quite well from my ordeal."

Sam ground his teeth and reminded himself that Bumblebee was only here because of this jackass.

"Good to hear it," Sam said, striving for politeness. "Ratchet said you were doing all right." He'd also said something about Sunstreaker being cranky but it seemed churlish to point that out.

"I'm sure he did," There was a wealth of dryness to Sunstreaker's tone, Sahara-like proportions of it. "I'm delighted to hear that he's sharing information about me with the underlings."

Underlings? Jesus, he'd heard better jibes in a George Lucas script. "You realize that you sound like a vaudeville villain when you talk like that, don't you."

That earned him a blank look. "Vaude-" Sunstreaker broke off, his eyes flicking to the right in that way that Sam had come to associate with Autobots accessing their wifi. It was sort of interesting the way they did it both as robots and holograms.

He'd never noticed the faint glow in any of their eyes before though, the softest sheen of blue shining out of the dimness. Sam couldn't recall if he'd ever seen Bumblebee access his wifi in the dark before, maybe it was-

The glow flared briefly and then vanished, Sunstreaker's eyes cutting back to meet his. "Mm, vaudeville, yes. So am I in the freakshow or perhaps just a male impersonator?"

Sam realized he'd stepped further inside without paying attention to it. He was close enough now to see Sunstreaker was sitting on his own hood, legs curled so that one was beneath him, the other drawn up so he could rest his chin on his knee. His face, so much like Sideswipe's but it was the eyes that held the difference, none of the easy warmth that Sideswipe exuded.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you-"

"I doubt you came here for me at all."

"-but I really wanted to thank you for helping Bee," Sam gritted out, doggedly. If he could get the gratitude out of the way then his own conscience would be clear and free. Then he might just forgo a sandwich and head back to bed. Suddenly, he felt pretty damned tired again.

Sunstreaker looked at him for a long moment, his head tipped to the side so that his long, dark hair fell over his shoulder, dangling down so that the tips brushed his hood. Black against yellow...like Bumblebee. Except not like him at all.

"Do you really want to thank me?" Sunstreaker asked, so softly.

"Yes..." Warily.

A faint smile, nothing like sweetness in it. "You could give me a kiss."

"You—"

"It's only a kiss." Softly mocking, that little smile widening. Sam had been wrong, nothing about this fucker resembled Sideswipe, nothing at all.

"You're just an asshole all the way around, aren't you."

"Strange, I'd heard that humans honored their debts." Sunstreaker said smoothly. "My mistake."

It was done to deliberately prick at Sam's pride, Sunstreaker not unsurprisingly adept at finding just the right chink in armor to shove in a laser knife. Deliberately done, yes, but it didn't mean he wasn't right. Sam chewed on his lower lip, hardly daring to consider that he was actually thinking-

_Dark fluid sliding down metallic cheeks, dripping onto the bright yellow of Bumblebee's armor, blood, so much blood. _

"If I...do...this," Sam stumbled over the words, not even wanting to think about the one that started with a K. "Will you call us even? And not say anything to Bumblebee...or anybody...or...or record it, or send it wifi or-"

"It will never leave this room, I swear it." Darkly solemn.

"Deal," Sam said, lips barely forming the words. He could feel the tremor in his hands, overexertion maybe, like Ratchet had said.

In one fluid movement, Sunstreaker slid off the hood to the ground, bare feet padding silently over to where Sam was standing, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. A little taller than him, like Sideswipe, like Bumblebee, and didn't it suck to be a short human in this place.

Cold hands cupped his cheeks, tipping his head up. Sunstreaker leaned in, their faces almost touching. So close that Sam could see the unnatural smoothness to his skin, porcelain-pale and nowhere near as fragile.

"Relax," Sunstreaker breathed softly, almost into his mouth. "I'll consider a poor attempt to be a forfeit of our bargain."

Sam took a shuddering breath and let it out, closing his eyes. He didn't think of Bumblebee, not a chance. Trying to pretend Sunstreaker was Bee seemed like the worst kind of betrayal. He tried not to think of anything, just leaned up and let his lips touch the ones above him.

Barely touch, lightest butterfly brush against him for the first moment, fear pushing adrenaline into his bloodstream making him part his lips recklessly, pressing his tongue into Sunstreaker's mouth before he could take the lead.

Soft noise of surprise from deep in Sunstreaker's throat and suddenly arms like steel were around him, too-tight grip and hard lips moving brutally against his own.

His mouth was cold, icy wet, and made delirious thoughts of Mikaela's ice cream cold lips but the taste...Bumblebee was hot, electric purple and this was a wintry indigo, felt sharp enough to cut the inside of his mouth. The sudden blossom of coppery warmth made his dimly believe that it had, technicolor wash of flavors in one simple kiss.

It took him a moment to realize his hands had knotted themselves into Sunstreaker's hair, cold strands tangled in his fingers and he was pulling Sunstreaker against him, wanting it harder, wanting _more_, wanting, oh, please-

"Please," he whimpered, a choked sound.

Sunstreaker was the one who pulled away, almost wrestling himself from Sam's grip, eyes wide as he looked down at Sam.

Sam felt...used. Lips sore and swollen, panting in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Hotness in his cheeks, humiliation rising, and was there a way out of this, could there be?

Startled when strong hands caught the front of his shirt, swinging him around and pushed him backwards, Sam stumbling along until the backs of his knees hit Sunstreaker's front bumper and folded under him. Sunstreaker followed him down, his mouth shades too cold and hard enough to bruise. One knee insinuated itself between Sam's legs, pressing into the firmness of his crotch.

"Wait..." Sam moaned, barely recognizing his own voice and what was _wrong_ with him. "Wait...I don't...I don't even like you!"

"I know," Wetly against his mouth, the slick rub of a tongue over his lips before Sunstreaker pulled away enough to smile at him, glass-sharp. "But I can be very persuasive."

Sam wasn't even sure how his pants came to be open, only that a cold hand was suddenly surrounding his cock, the icy bite making him gasp. His other hand was tight around one of Sam's wrists, holding him down like Sam might struggle, like he should struggle. The thought of it vanished when a cool thumb rubbed hard over the head of his cock, sliding easy through the sudden, wet rush of pre-come.

Sunstreaker's tongue was painting damp lines down his face, his voice rasping out harsh, staticky words and somehow Sam knew he'd just called him something like beautiful, not quite, but something-

"Sunstreaker, let him go." Sharply, from somewhere behind them. Sam knew that voice, he knew it. Couldn't focus on anything but that stroking hand, tightening and loosening with sweet preciseness, hard weight pressing him into the warming metal beneath him.

Sunstreaker didn't look back, his gaze avid on Sam's face, watching him. His thumb swept lightly over Sam's wrist, resting lightly on his pulse. "No."

Sam let out a moan that was nearly a sob, trying to arch up, Sunstreaker's weight holding him down. Close, so, so close.

"Sunstreaker, enough! You promised me you'd leave him alone!"

Sharp laugh, gust of cool breath against Sam's hot cheeks. "He wants it. He knows it's me and he _wants_ it. We never made any promises about that."

"He wants it but that doesn't mean he wants it from you. Let him go." Sideswipe's voice- Sideswipe, it was Sideswipe, God,- filled with scorn of the like Sam had never heard from him, brittle cold. "You're raping him. Is that what you really want?"

His hand stilled, ignoring Sam's cry of protest.

Sideswipe was next to them, gently drawing Sunstreaker's hand out of Sam's pants and holding it between his own. Sam could smell his own sex, thick in the air. "Let him go."

"I want him," Sunstreaker said, his voice mod raspy, desperate.

"I know," Sideswipe said, soothing. "Let him go, anyway."

Fever-bright eyes and for a moment, Sam truly believed he wouldn't. That Sunstreaker would just flip him over and fuck him right here on the smooth coolness of his own hood and oh, god, he wanted him to, arching his hips up in helpless little movements, encouraging.

Every little writhe was glittering in Sunstreaker's eyes, the hard pressure of his hand around Sam's wrist tightening into pain and sudden, white-hot agony seared through Sam's arm, hitting him like an iceberg. His scream was choked but Sunstreaker let him go as if his skin had begun leaking acid, backing away with his hands raised pleadingly.

"Sam, get out of here." Sideswipe didn't look at him, his gaze locked on his brother.

It was difficult to do, cradling his injured wrist with his other arm. He slid off the hood, knees almost buckling under him and if he'd collapsed Sam wasn't sure what would have happened. He managed to stay upright, staggering towards the door, his opened pants sliding awkwardly down his hips. It felt like insanity was leaking out of him, leaving cold reality in its wake and Sam could barely even conceive of what he'd been doing. It was like being on some kind of drug or a hallucination, the need of it, and he hadn't even cared if it was someone he hated.

Sunstreaker hadn't moved, clenched his hands into fists and didn't try to stop him. Just before the door closed behind him, Sam heard the sound of transformation, of metal screeching against metal.

"Come on, Sam, I have you," Sideswipe's voice directly next to him, gentle hands on his shoulders.

Sam startled violently, the fresh surge of adrenaline finally too much for his system.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sam said clearly, and promptly did so. Sideswipe held him gently, his expression betraying no emotion about this very human activity. Long moments passed before he stopped heaving, the pavement hard beneath his knees.

"We need to get you to the infirmary," Sideswipe said.

"Yeah," Sam wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that wasn't currently screaming with pain. "I bet Ratchet will be happy to see me."

Sideswipe didn't respond to that feeble joke, only helped Sam get to his feet, careful to not jar his hurt arm as he tugged Sam's pants up and fastened them. They needed to go, his wrist was sending out hot pulses of pain but Sam didn't move, the enormity of all this was swarming in, horrifying enough to make black dots waver in his vision.

"God, what did I do?" Sam whispered.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Sideswipe's grip had taken on a bit of urgency, tugging him forward a step, then another, until Sam finally started walking on his own.

"Then whose fault is it?" he snapped out.

"I..." Sideswipe fell silent, matching his steps to Sam's faltering ones. "Perhaps this isn't the best time to be discussing this."

"No, it helps." Sam licked his upper lip, tasted the sweat beading there. "Distracting."

"Sunstreaker is...fractured, I suppose would be the word for it. It's difficult for me to explain."

"He's mental, is what you're saying."

"No, I...I'm not explaining it well. We're two sides of the same coin. Positive and negative energy...attract each other." Sideswipe stumbled-no, flickered. There was no better way to describe it and they both nearly fell.

"Are you all right?"

Pale, almost faded, "Yes, I'm fine."

Realization dawned. "You...you're with him, too, aren't you."

"He needs me."

"Bullshit. What's he doing to you?"

Wan smile. "Nothing that he hasn't done before."

He could see the infirmary now, the glow of light in the windows further reinforced his belief that Autobots didn't sleep. Certainly Ratchet didn't.

"I can't go any further, Sam," The barest wisp of voice and Sam looked at Sideswipe, could see the outline of buildings through him.

"Tell Ratchet," Sideswipe hesitated and Sam suddenly knew what Sideswipe wanted him to say, what he wouldn't ask.

"I won't tell him," Sam said, softly, "It wasn't...it wasn't all Sunstreaker's fault." Not by a long shot, not when Sam had been trying to shove his tongue down his throat. You couldn't expect anyone, human or Autobot, to get 'no' out of that. He couldn't think about that now, shoved the memory of his own reaction completely out of his head. Later, when agony wasn't first and foremost in his brain.

He saw the doubt on Sideswipe's face before he faded completely and the faint screaming sound of metal against metal had to be Sam's imagination, he was way too far away to hear what was going on in that too-small room. He hoped.

The stairs seemed almost too much to climb, but Sam managed it, steeling himself for Ratchet's reaction. Not even half a day out of here and he was right back, with all new injuries and pain.

He liked it a lot better when he only came to the infirmary for information, that was fucking well for sure.

finis-


	16. Topics of Conversation

Topics of Conversation

* * *

It was much later when it occurred to Sam that this was the first time he'd come to the infirmary with an actual injury. Even his last little extended stay couldn't count considering that he'd actually gotten hurt while he was already inside. Later, he'd think of that and almost appreciate the irony of it. At the moment, it was all he could do to push at the heavy door, cradling his injured wrist as best he could as he shouldered it open. Even so, hot throbs of pain shot up his arm and Sam had to stifle a whimper, biting his lip hard as he staggered inside.

Across the room, he could see Ratchet hunched over his work table, tried to work his too-dry tongue enough to call to him. He never had a chance. Ratchet was already turning towards him, hydraulics shifting his weight as he turned towards the door.

"This had better be--" he began, irritably, and cut off abruptly when he saw Sam. His holo form came into existence so quickly that it blurred, catching him by his uninjured arm and lowering him into a chair. "What happened?" he demanded brusquely, his hands almost unbearably gentle as they moved over his wrist.

"I tripped. Caught myself but I must've twisted my wrist wrong."

Both his holo form and his robot body gave Sam a sharp look, the odd doubled effect making him feel faintly dizzy. "You might want to work on that story before you try telling it to anyone else. Your heart rate leapt when you said it."

Hands moved quickly and efficiently and in a moment he was enclosing Sam's forearm into this weird metal bracelet looking thing. It was loaded with wires and when Ratchet snapped it shut, it was like his arm had ceased to exist. He sighed weakly in relief and started leaning back, stopped when his arm didn't come with him.

"Hold still," Ratchet murmured, doing...something. Sam didn't know and couldn't feel it even if he did. It was easier to sit here with his mind blank, waiting for a lecture that didn't seem to be coming. Ratchet was making plenty of noise, both his robot form which had come closer and was crouching next to them, and his holo form, strong hands moving over Sam's arm, but they were mostly little wordless murmurs and clicks.

"I kind of thought you'd be lecturing me," Sam mumbled, tiredly.

"No," Ratchet said, simply. "I don't lecture because I enjoy it, Sam." No reproach at all in his voice and it was worse, somehow. If he was all scolding and cranky, Sam could have blown it off the same way he had dozens of parental lectures over the years

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. You do realize that I don't enjoy seeing anyone in pain." Another delicate twist of his fingers over the contraption he'd set Sam's arm in and there was something about his hands, moving, an odd gracefulness to them and to his horror, Sam felt himself hardening and oh, my god, this was Ratchet, who was _old _and looked a little like Andy Griffith, this was so, so wrong.

"Wait, I need..." Instinctively, Sam tried to pull away, every impulse inside him begging for him to get the heck out of here and go someplace where he could just die.

"Hold still."

"Just...I mean, for a second..." Please. Until sanity resumed.

"Sam, I am fully aware of your sexual arousal," Ratchet said irritably, holding his arm still. "And interrupting my work isn't going to make me unaware. I am neither interested nor offended, so hold still. Humans..."

Well, since his humiliation was pretty much complete, anyway...Sam mutely relaxed and let Ratchet continue to molest his arm while his own body responded in pretty much the most inappropriate way possible.

The silence must have been a little disconcerting to Ratchet as well, because after long moments of working, he spoke again. "So, you fell?" Ratchet prompted.

"Yeah."

"And this?" A fingertip lightly touched his mouth. Sam licked his lip and winced, tasting blood from the cut.

"I guess I bit my lip," Sam widened his eyes deliberately.

"That's somewhat better," Ratchet said dryly. "You may be able to fool Ironhide with that lie."

Sam shrugged and then winced when Ratchet glared at him, holding his arm still. Come to think of it, he looked a _lot _like Andy Griffith.

"Why did you choose this form as your hologram?" Sam asked, a little blearily. Was that whose-a-ma-whatcher giving him some kind of pain killer? "Everyone else has gone with...I dunno. Younger.

"I've noticed that your people respond better to authority figures who are older," Ratchet said absently.

"So you don't think of this as your human equivalent?"

"I don't have a human equivalent." Dryly. "I'm considerably older than any possible conversion. I would have been considered old by your standards before we even realized organic species existed."

"Seriously?"

"Oh, yes."

It was like his brain and his mouth weren't wired properly together anymore. "Is that why you don't like me being with Bumblebee?"

"I told you where my concerns lie," His eyes flicked up and met Sam's, the faint glow in them was disturbing in a way that it never was with Bumblebee. It was like Ratchet could see straight into his heart and suddenly realizing exactly how old Ratchet was disturbing, almost like a god was gently repairing his wrist.

"I am old," Ratchet acknowledged, and it made Sam start a little, like Ratchet had plucked the idea straight from his thoughts. "Old enough to have seen many, many of these relationships and to have seen them end. It is never pleasant. Sam, how long do humans live?"

"I don't know...seventy, eighty years?"

"Bumblebee is over a thousand of your human years old."

"You think he's too old for me?" Sam asked, feeling stupid and blurry.

"We are beings of flawless memory. Barring corruption or death, if we wish, we can recall every instance in our lives. A thousand years from now, Bumblebee will remember the exact shade of your eyes, the way your skin feels, every single instance of making love to you. And you will have been dead for a thousand years and there will be nothing he can do to stop it."

That was...actually kind of horrible to think about. Bumblebee, alone, replaying his memories over and over like some kind of old television program. "You're saying a thousand years from now he'll...what? Still be missing me?"

"He will mourn you forever." Still very gentle, his hands moving further up Sam's arm, to where he could actually feel. "Autobots have been known to mourn their lost loves until the last bit of spark separates from their systems."

"So you want me to break up with him now, is that it?" Harshly because it wasn't fair, he didn't want that for Bumblebee but how was it his fault humans didn't live very long? And hey, maybe life was short, didn't he deserve some happiness, too?

Ratchet gave him a withering look. "It would hardly hurt less for him to lose you now than then. No...I told you before Sam, none of this is your fault. I'm angry at my impotence, not at you. I would have spared Bumblebee this pain if I could. Had I known his emotions ran so deeply, I never would have encouraged him."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, groggily. He was starting to see a weird halo around the lamps, little colored rainbows at the edge of his vision. "So who was it that you loved? Have they been dead a thousand years?"

Ratchet went very still. "Perceptive," he murmured, not looking up. "He died in the war."

"If you'd known, would you have taken it back?"

Ratchet's fingers stilled, his eyes lingering on the bandage for a long moment before they finally rose to meet Sam's. His smile was bitter.

"Not a millisecond," Ratchet said. His robotic form leaned in closer, the soft whir and hiss of machinery close enough to make Sam squint towards him, swaying.

"You know, that's really weird. Why are you looking at it twice?"

"I see better with my own eyes," Ratchet said absently.

"I thought you told me when an Autobot is in a holoform, he is that form."

Both robot and hologram paused in their work long enough to give him eerily similar dirty looks. "Next time you have a splinter, try to remove it while looking through binoculars and let me know how that works for you."

Sam hadn't worked out a good reply to that when the door burst open, Optimus's large form pushing forcefully inside.

Brilliant. Sam slouched back in his chair as much as he could and covered his face with his free hand. This was about to get worse. He thought faintly of Bumblebee, both wishing he was here and relieved that he wasn't.

Better to bask in weird Cybertronion pain meds than deal with it. For now.

-finis-


	17. Lies of Omission

Lies of Omission

* * *

It was bad enough to be sitting in the infirmary with an actual injury for a change. Worse to be trying not to remember what had brought him here, do not think of icy cold lips against his own, Sam told himself, not chilly fingers touching. Even worse to be sitting here getting a groove going for Ratchet even if Ratchet didn't seem to care much about it.

Add in one leader of the Autobots who was going to be asking for explanations and Sam figured he was going for worst day ever. At this point a Decepticon attack would be anti-climatic, the sour center to his shit-candy day.

But no one attacked in the moment it took Optimus to step towards them, his concern visible so Sam figured he was just going to have to roll with what he had. As in, lie.

"Optimus," Sam said with the bright enthusiasm of one under the influence of excellent pain medication. "Good to see you, man, good to see you."

Optimus nodded gravely in that way he had that never made Sam feel like he was a kid or stupid or...or anything. Optimus treated him like he was someone important, always had, and now he was going to sit here and _lie_ to him, God, he was such an asshole.

Without waiting for Sam to get past his internal crisis, Optimus crouched next to them and surely he was already doing whatever the weird x-ray thing Autobots did. Sam kinda hoped it wasn't some kind of radiation. He really didn't want to add any mutations to the weirdness that was around him lately.

"How is he?" Optimus asked, his deep voice a quiet vibration that surrounded them and to Sam's growing, undying shame, the sound of it kindled the flame of his dying lust. His flagging hard-on perked back to life, straining against his jeans and of course if Ratchet had known it before, he probably damn well knew it now. Optimus probably knew it too, Christ, they both probably thought he had some freaky robotic kink, and geez, did he? Here he was with a broken arm and a boner, this wasn't right, this wasn't-

If Ratchet was worried about Sam's status as a possible Autobot pervert, he didn't show it. He didn't even look up as he spoke.

"Minor damage," Ratchet confirmed, still focused on Sam's arm. Only he could get away without looking at Prime when he wanted answers. "It's already healing."

"What happened?" Optimus demanded.

"He fell," Ratchet said succinctly. Sam tried to look as if that was exactly what had happened and there was no freakishness with the resident Autobot twins, not one bit. That was something he'd deal with later, preferably without Ratchet and Optimus present.

"Where?"

Sam blinked. "Huh?"

"Where?" Optimus repeated with slow patience. "Where did you fall?"

Okay, the plan, what little he'd had of one, wasn't working well. Ratchet obviously knew something was up even though he wasn't calling Sam on it, and Optimus was just staring at him, waiting for him,_trusting_ him, and it wasn't a complicated question, he should have an answer.

"Getting out of bed," San blurted out and it was with resigned horror that he heard Ratchet say at the same moment, "In the shower."

Shit. Well, points to Ratchet for trying, anyway.

"I was getting out of bed to take a shower," Sam tried, weakly, and okay, there was no way Optimus would go for that, not a chance.

"I wish you would have told me that when you came in, Sam, I wouldn't have lectured you for attempting to shower alone," Ratchet said smoothly. "I do hope you will be more careful in the future. You are still recovering." And it was then that Sam forgave Ratchet for anything, everything, past and future because Sam might suck at lying to Optimus but luckily it seemed he was in the presence of a master.

"Sure. Yes. Absolutely," Sam said fervently. Ratchet glanced up and his stern expression made Sam snap his mouth shut so hard he bit his tongue. Don't overdo it, right, listen to the master.

And right now the master was still doing...things...to Sam's arm, his focus completely on that and that seemed like a great idea to Sam who started watching him intently. Easy enough, his head was still spinning, Look at the doc, not at the leader, look at the doc, not at the leader.

Soft sound of hydraulics whirring next to him and Sam couldn't help sneaking a glance up, watched as Optimus pressed his thumb and forefingers against his temples like his head ached. Could an Autobot get a headache? If so, he would have to bet that Optimus went through mega-sized bottles of Advil by the day because surely he and Bumblebee couldn't be the only headache-inducing trouble out there. He hoped.

"Let me see if I understand. You both want me to believe that you sustained a spiral arm fracture by falling?" Optimus looked kind of weird without his face plate, Sam decided, unsteadily. Not in a bad way, the lines of his face were cast in a soft blue glow from his optics, interesting really, almost attractive...Sam only realized he was listing to one side when large metal hand settled on his back, holding him upright and he offered both Ratchets a beaming smile. Oh, Optimus was still waiting.

"Yes?" Sam tried, echoed by Ratchet's, "Of course."

"Even though that type of injury is most likely caused by a grabbing or twisting motion?"

"Isn't that the weirdest thing? I always get the weirdest injuries, I bet my mom could tell you some stories, you should ask her. This scar right here, I got-"

"Sam," Optimus broke in, resignedly. "We brought you here to keep you safe. Thus far, you've sustained more physical and emotional trauma in our presence than anything the Decepticons have done to you."

"That's not true-" Sam started but whatever patience Optimus always had with him had finally seemed to reach its limit because Optimus interrupted him.

"Ratchet," Optimus began, sharply, and his tone made Sam wince, he'd never heard Optimus talk like that and it was worse, so much worse when he continued in Cybertronian and Ratchet answered him the same way, finally pulling his attention away from Sam's poor, abused arm and he sounded angry, he sounded-

It was weird, Sam thought, wavering a little even with Ratchet's support. The chair beneath him felt unsteady, the walls shimmering like looking through a fire. It was weird because he felt as though if he concentrated, he would know what they were saying, Optimus was demanding...he was...Ratchet didn't know what was happening, he'd told them before this was...this was...

No.

A sharp whine started low in his hearing, barely heard, flaring abruptly into the sharp scream of static feedback and Ratchet jerked away from him with a cry of pain, his holo form flickering abruptly out as his robotic one clutched at his head, at his audio receptors, Sam realized dimly. Ratchet would have fallen, possibly on Sam, if Optimus hadn't grabbed his arm and held him steady.

"Easy," Optimus said, his anger forgotten in the face of concern as he carefully lowered Ratchet to the ground.

"I'm fine," Ratchet said, irritably, jerking away from Optimus's gentle grip with a squeal of metal against metal. "Just a feedback loop. I was touching him when-"

He broke off, shaking his head a little and okay, Sam was out of it but he wasn't fucking stupid, thank you.

"What is going on?" Sam asked, his voice low.

Ratchet's holo flickered back into existence, reaching for Sam's arm. "It's nothing to concern yourself with at this moment," he began, frowning when Sam drew away from him.

"Screw that, you were just talking about me, I heard you."

"We were," Ratchet agreed, calmly, and he took Sam's arm in both hands, holding him firmly. "But right now my only concern is properly healing your arm so that there are no lingering aftereffects of your injury."

"Fuck my arm and fuck you! You were speaking another language and I-" That sharp sound rose again, whining feedback and Sam clutched his free hand over his ear, god, make it stop, make it stop!

It cut off as suddenly as it began, severed so sharply that Sam nearly felt it. "Don't do that!" Ratchet gasped and his fingers on Sam's arm trembled, "You shouldn't even be able to!"

"I'm not trying to!" Sam hissed and he could still feel it, trying to push through whatever was blocking it.

"I am trying to keep it from becoming agonizing but I can't control your receptors forever," Ratchet said tightly. "If you wouldn't mind taking a deep breath and calming yourself before you rupture both our audio receivers?"

Calm down. Right. Easy to do with anger bursting from his brain and a boner bursting through his pants. Only, Ratchet looked like he was in actual pain, the strain of whatever he was doing showing on both his faces so Sam did as he said, took a deep breath, another, and maybe it was helping, just relax a little before he gave Ratchet the Autobot equivalent of a stroke.

There. It was easing, he was sure of it, some of the tightness leaving Ratchet's face and Sam thought maybe he could control whatever this was, maybe he could...and the doors burst inward as Bumblebee's holo ran in, pale with concern, hair tousled and green, green eyes and he looked...God, he looked-

It was like a flash went off in Sam's brain, a brilliant pop!snap that had him on his feet, ignoring Ratchet's surprised protest as he followed the pull of it over to Bumblebee, pushed past his raised hands to covered that soft, startled mouth with his own. Tasted fear and arousal, the wet slick heat of it perfect, this, this was what he needed, fuck, yes, _this_.

"Sam, what are you-" Bumblebee managed, broke off when Sam pushed their mouths together again, biting hard at Bee's lower lip. No talking, no, not when he needed this so, so much, not when he tried to push Bumblebee to the floor and found that he could, the shocked resistance so easy to ignore and Bee felt so good straining against him. The line of his body was warm and the floor was cool against his knees as Sam straddled Bee, shifting enough to mouth hot bites along his jaw to his ear, nipped the soft lobe and relishing Bee's little gasps.

"Want you," Sam managed, thickly, already pushing against him, rocking their hips together. The white heat memory of pain from his arm was nothing like the one burning inside him, a tangled knot of pure desire burning through his guts. Couldn't help murmuring his pleasure as Bumblebee's protests slid away and melted into yielding.

Clothes were not a hindrance to be born and Sam tugged at them impatiently, grumbling into Bee's mouth and wondered why the hell Bee didn't just make them gone, he could do that, he could do anything, but he didn't need to ask, they opened anyway under his fumbling, stupid hand, his other hand was useless for some reason he couldn't quite remember and Bumblebee was holding it anyway, refused to let Sam try to use it.

Distantly, he thought he might hear voices, someone talking that wasn't Bumblebee, which meant they didn't matter at all. If he could just get this, if he could just get that connection everything would be all right, everything would be great, perfect, and all he needed was for Bumblebee to quit squirming and let him.

"Sam...stop..." Bee tried, his voice jagged with static, "Here, let me-" He managed to slip a hand in Sam's jeans, circled him with a firm grip that promised happy times and orgasms but...no. Sam tore his mouth away from Bee's.

"No!" he argued, frantically, trying to tug Bee's hand away and wriggle out of his jeans at the same time. "I need to be inside you. You inside me, I don't care I need...I...connection. Please!"

"Sam, you need control," Bumblebee gasped and it was dimly hilarious and totally unfair that he was so coherent.

"Please!"

Bumblebee pulled away enough to glare over Sam's shoulder and he spared an uncaring glance back, saw Ratchet and Optimus standing there, peering at them with equal amounts of interest and concern, respectively. It didn't matter to Sam, not to the growing ache inside him but Bumblebee didn't seem to share his disregard.

"Do you mind?" he hissed, breaking off on a moan when Sam bit his ear, demanding his attention. Come on, come on...

"Not particularly," Ratchet said, his gaze avid until Optimus gave him a rough shove in the direction of the door. "Oh, all right," he grumbled. "Watch that arm, I'm not finished with it."

The low vibration of their steps trembled through Sam like a caress that slowly faded as they stepped out of the infirmary.

Alone, finally, and the floor was cold, the room too-bright and full of bizarre tools and equipment but Bumblebee was finally, finally here and he wasn't fighting anymore. Nothing but hot, hard kisses, nothing like the wintry touch of Sunstreaker... Sam cut that thought off before it could fully form. There was no room for it here, not with Bumblebee beneath him, his fingers trembling, his lips kiss-swollen and hot.

Between the two of them, they managed to wriggle Sam's jeans down to tangle messily at his shoes, bare enough and Bumblebee's clothes were no obstacle at all, gone with a thought and there were no barriers anymore, nothing but bareness between them.

"Wait-" Bee tried, too late, Sam was already shifting, arching back and whimpering a little at the feel of it, finally, Bumblebee inside him and here was what he needed, connection, yes, hot flesh invading him in all the best ways. A faint ache of pain layered beneath it, a deep stretch but it didn't matter, nothing mattered but this connection.

Yes, Sam thought he said, yes, but there was no sound, only an echo from Bumblebee, purple/electric, that almost-taste that meant Bumblebee heavy in his mouth, inside his head, the pulse point of their bodies moving together and Sam was shuddering with it before he even fully realized what it was, collapsing against Bee in a damp, shivering wreck.

_Shhh, it's all right_, a faint little murmur, slim fingers threading tenderly through Sam's hair as he trembled, clutched at Bee with one hand like he was the only thing keeping him on the ground._ I have you. I have you, it's all right..._

Quieter and quieter until finally there was silence, a tiny severing click that Sam almost felt and he was alone in his head.

It was like a curtain dropped from over his eyes, one that had been there so long he'd forgotten it was there and suddenly everything that had happened today came flooding back to him and he saw it through new eyes. Ratchet, Sunstreaker, oh, god-

Sam carefully pushed himself up with his free hand, noting distantly he was sticky and starting to get cold, and he was also pretty damned sore just about everywhere, except for his injured arm that Bee was still holding, still encased in whatever sci-fi cast that Ratchet used.

Hesitantly, Sam tugged free of Bee's grip and Bee let him, eyes dark with concern. He'd heard Bee, Sam realized numbly, heard him inside his head.

Sam wet his lips, felt the dry catch of them against his tongue before he whispered, "What's wrong with me?"

He wondered if he could stand to hear the answer.

tbc


	18. The Theory of Existence

The Hypothesis of Existence

* * *

There were many plans Sam had had for his life while he was growing up. At three he'd wanted to be a fireman and at five that had moved on to astronaut. The basics. The growing list of planned and discarded career choices had expanded over the years until he'd added the most recent to his list which was simply, 'live to next birthday.'

None of those plans had ever included him being recently fucked on the cold floor of the Autobot infirmary with the holographic form of his robotic boyfriend after some sort of psychotic episode but there were some contingencies that there were just no planning for. But that didn't mean Sam couldn't go with the flow.

"What's wrong with me?" Sam asked quietly. Bumblebee was warm against his bare skin, a sharp contrast to the hard floor against his knees, his hands drifting down to Sam's hips as if he was afraid Sam would pull away. Not much chance of that. For one, Sam wasn't sure he could even stand up right now. Sex combined with Cybertronian pain meds weren't helping with his balance.

"I'm not quite sure," Bumblebee admitted, fingertips stroking down Sam's bare thighs.

"No, that's not good enough. Not when I'm in here popping a boner for Ratchet, okay? Not when I'm dragging you to the floor in semi-public. Not when-" _Sunstreaker_. Sam broke off, took a deep breath. Not that, not yet.

Bumblebee took a breath that he didn't need, again, eyes closed as he considered. "We told you that you now possess some of my receptors-"

A loud metallic knock interrupted him, the door shivering from the force of it. "If you're both quite finished, may I come back into my infirmary and finish with my patient?" Ratchet voice was muffled but he didn't wait for a response and pushed inside, Optimus following with more wariness. Upon seeing the two of them still sprawled on the floor, Ratchet heaved a very human put-upon sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed them impatiently while Sam scrambled to his feet, struggling to both yank his pants up and cover himself with only one useful hand.

Bumblebee's clothes reappeared on him in a quick flicker and Sam had a brief moment to be envious of that trick before Bumblebee was helping him straighten his jeans, mumbling unkind things about Ratchet's spark-giving under his breath.

"I know what naked humans look like, Sam. Your biology is hardly an aberration from the norm. Now if the two of you can control yourselves for a moment?" Ratchet made an exaggerated gesture to the chair Sam had been in before. Tired beyond measure and more than a little resentful that secrets seemed to have been kept from him yet again, Sam slung himself into the chair and lived to regret it instantly as a thousand aches punched their way through the fog of painkillers and lit up in all areas of his body. Fucking hell, he felt like he'd been impaled on a railroad spike and then beaten with it.

He laid his steel-encased arm back on the examining table at lot more gingerly, glaring at Ratchet who seemed to be abandoning his efforts at holographic transmission and instead settled his large form on the floor across from Sam. "I don't care how many humans you've seen, naked or not. I don't need you to add a picture of my bare ass to your collection."

"You're so certain I haven't already? Bumblebee, I'm teasing him, exercise some of your own control and be silent!" Ratchet snapped before Bumblebee could make more than an indignant sound of protest. Dozens of slender instruments erupted from just one of his large fingertips and Sam swallowed tightly as they whirred around his arm. He was a lot more comfortable with Ratchet's poor temper when he wasn't two inches away from Ginsu-ing him.

Luckily, Ratchet seemed to have a tight focus even when pissed, making tiny adjustments as he continued muttering, "Just lately, the only injuries I seem to have to deal with have been from you two! I swear if I see either of you in here again for so much as a splinter or scratched paint, I am going deactivate you both and bury you under a rock somewhere on this blasted planet!"

"Ratchet," Optimus said quietly, laying one large hand on Ratchet's shoulder with unmistakable tenderness. Ratchet couldn't jerk away without possibly hacking Sam's arm off and while Sam couldn't help but be relieved that Ratchet resisted the urge, it was obvious that he wanted to, stiffening under Optimus's continued touch.

It would have been nice if Sam could have blamed the painkiller that was still swimming happily through his brain for what he said next but his startled realization was more than enough for him to blurt, "Are you two _together_?"

Dead silence greeted that, Ratchet's glittering little instruments going utterly still for the briefest of seconds before they resumed. "If you are asking me if I am involved in an ongoing relationship with my Prime, the answer is no," Ratchet said tightly.

Sam wondered if that was news to Optimus, who hadn't moved, his hand still resting lightly on Ratchet's shoulder.

"If you are asking if we are currently indulging in occasional intimacy, then yes, and I will be happy to discuss it with you at another time. If you'd like, I'll even set up a demonstration for you but for right now-"

"Ratchet-"

"Whoa, man, no-"

"Ratchet!"

Three voices exclaimed in unison, echoing loudly through the room before Ratchet finally threw up both hands in disgust, abandoning Sam's arm. "Could we please stay on the subject at hand and not on _my_ sexual proclivities? Need I remind you all that I am a medical officer specializing in repairs, not a counselor."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Sam said, tiredly. "Let's talk about my sex life a little more instead. You might like to give personal demonstrations but that's not really my thing so can you explain why I just had the urge to go all out on the floor over there?"

After a long moment, Ratchet resumed his work. "All right. I shall, to the best of my abilities, explain this to you, Sam, and I would like to remind you that you are recently recovering from an incident that nearly killed you, while this issue had barely caused an inconvenience, so if you wouldn't mind keeping your anger under control for the time being and sparing my audio receivers, I would appreciate it."

"No promises," Sam shrugged, "But I'll do my best."

"I suppose that will have to do. I explained to you before that you have receptors from Bumblebee."

"Yeah, but-"

"If you could save your questions until the end of the tour?" Ratchet said with bland coolness and Bumblebee's disgruntled sound matched Sam's own thoughts. Sure it was easy for Ratchet to be calm about it, it wasn't screwing with him. Oh, don't even _think_ about that, he wasn't even showing his Andy Griffith holo at the moment.

"Those you have gained through frequent contact and some deliberate insertion." Ratchet nodded at the tattoo circling Sam's bicep.

"But why-" Sam started and fell silent as Ratchet pinned him with a glare. Questions can wait, right.

"Their affinity with you is what saved both your and Bumblebee's life when you were infected with the virus. However, as I was treating you for your injuries, I discovered something else. You were already in possession of your own receptors." And that was enough, too much, and Sam had to struggle to keep his temper, keep calm before Ratchet had to put the brakes on everything again.

"How is that even possible?" Sam said through gritted teeth and to hell with saving questions, this was just too much.

"From the Allspark," Optimus said in his deep, quiet voice. Something about him saying it made it seem far more real than Ratchet's rambling explanation, rooting it in reality. Ratchet spoke in sarcasm but Optimus was truth, always.

Sam shook his head, trying to understand. "But other people were around it for years and nothing happened to them!"

"You were there when it was destroyed, Sam," Ratchet spoke again, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with the gentleness of his touch. A dozen little instruments were touching him at once and not a single one brought any pain. "The Allspark is...was...our giver of life and the consequences of its destruction...you must understand that there was no way for us to anticipate this-"

Sam held up a shaking hand and Ratchet fell silent, focusing again on his instruments. There was on odd warmth growing within his little arm cage, barely a distraction.

A light touch on the back of his free hand startled him, Bee running his fingertips over his knuckles, so tentative, as if he expected Sam to jerk away from him. Instead, he threaded their fingers together and squeezed hard. Like he could be angry at Bee, like any of this was Bumblebee's fault.

"Okay, I have my own receptors. That's great, that's...that's just perfect. So what the hell is wrong with me then?"

"You're organic," Ratchet said simply. "You're not meant to possess receptors. They require a power source to work but at the moment, haven't produced the proper connection to get it from your fuel source."

"But you think they will?"

"Adaption is what we do, Sam. But the point is, right now they are required to take their power from another source, one that works on a similar basis."

"Like from an Autobot," Sam guessed.

"Quite so. They are not truly intelligent nor self-aware but they do have a rudimentary survival programming and they can make assessments of a pattern. I am guessing that they have learned that when you are sexually aroused, they have contact with a power source and so they are inducing sexual arousal in you when there is one nearby."

"They are making me feel hot and horny whenever I am around an Autobot." Sam considered that. Well, at least his robot perversion had a good excuse.

"You have a fascinating habit of translating English into English, but yes, as you say. Hot and horny. An inconvenience, perhaps, but unless you are in the habit of involving yourself sexually with other...Autobots," Ratchet's voice mod hitched, ever so slightly, dawning realization, and Sam wondered a little desperately if Bee or Optimus noticed it. "There shouldn't be an issue," Ratchet continued easily.

"Does it affect you guys, too? I mean, am I making you want me?"

"I suspect that you don't need receptors for that," Ratchet murmured, a certain sour note to his voice mod. "But no. Not to me, anyway. Optimus?"

"No," Optimus replied dryly and there was a slight creak of metal as he tightened his grip on Ratchet's shoulder.

"It was only a question, Prime," Ratchet said with perfect innocence. "It's possible that Bumblebee has some slight drawing to you because his receptors are mingled with yours but I hardly think he needs incentive."

"Why didn't you guys just tell me this?" Sam said, a little plaintively.

"I could have." Ratchet agreed. "I chose not to. Which explanation would you prefer? That I was still concerned for you state of being after your illness, which I may remind you nearly killed you? That I was waiting for an opportune moment to discuss it with you that wouldn't cause you undue distress? Or that I simply didn't want to deal with it at the moment and thought a few days more rest might be appropriate before burdening you with further issues. Take your pick."

Okay, yeah, it had been a pretty full month. What with having Decepticons trying to kill him, in virus form and in person, leaving his home, fighting with his parents, suddenly getting involved with Bumblebee-

A sudden chill formed in the pit of his gut, a thick coldness that closed his throat as a thought occurred to him. He'd never so much as looked at a human guy, hadn't felt even a hint of interest before getting involved with Bumblebee and the receptors could make him feel things. They wanted power and they could make him get it for them and oh, god, god, please, no.

"Sam?" Ratchet looked up sharply, "Sam?"

"Sam?" Bumblebee said, softly, and Sam could still hear the raggedness to it, past damage roughening his voice but not so much that he couldn't hear the gentle concern. The love. It was so painfully obvious in everything about Bumblebee, from the clasp of his hand around Sam's to shine in his eyes. Bumblebee knew him so well, always knew what he needed and Sam had been...what? Using him as a power source, Jesus-

"Both of you, get out," Ratchet said abruptly, shrugging off Optimus's touch so fiercely that his fingertips left scratches in the paint on his shoulder. Neither protested and Sam didn't have the energy to try. Bee gave Sam's hand a last gentle squeeze before he reluctantly left and then he and Ratchet were alone, Ratchet's optics regarding him gravely.

"Your heart rate accelerated to the point it set off an alarm on my monitors. What's wrong? Do you feel ill?"

"No, no," Sam managed to stammer out. "This is all just so...weird, you know?"

For a weak explanation, it worked well enough, Ratchet visibly relaxing. Maybe he was picking up a few lying tips from the master. "For me as well. Treating a biological patient who is having robotic issues is really beyond my purview."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Ratchet made a grunting sound of agreement. "All right, let's finish this discussion so you can get some rest. Here is what is important for you to know. This is not harming you, it is not specifically changing you, to your detriment or otherwise. I've been keeping very close track and shall continue to do so but this is what I have been able to discern thus far."

"One, you are carrying remnants of the Allspark and please, when I say remnants, I mean remnants and because of that, Autobot receptors have been able to bind themselves to you.

"Two, receptors are our very base like your red blood cells, they work and they need energy to survive. Thus far, they are getting that energy from Bumblebee and I see no reason for that situation to change. Consider this a doctor's order to engage in frequent sexual activity until your receptors stabilize. I doubt it will be a hardship for you."

Only five minutes ago, Sam would have been delighting in that little piece of news. How odd, he thought distantly, that so much could change in so little time. "So what's with the eardrum bursting sound then?" Sam asked, a little dully. He wasn't sure he really cared anymore.

"I was getting to that. Since they are a living, working entity, they are trying to work for you and they are adapting to you. You do not speak Cybertronian but that is as basic a component to them as oxygen is to you. Therefore, when you hear Cybertronian, they are translating it and attempting to relay it to you. For lack of a better phrase, getting the information to you has been a work in progress, it seems. When other Autobots are in proximity to you, the feedback can be particularly painful."

"So...I've got tiny little robot bugs living on me, who aren't hurting me but they are trying to teach me robotic languages and get me laid?"

Ratchet did the Autobot equivalent of an eyeroll, optics flickering."Sure, why not. That sounds close enough."

"This is really weird."

"And yet, you've lived with trillions of dust mites over the course of your life and not one ever assisted you in gaining sexual gratification. "

"I guess there is that." His sci-fi cast made a little trilling sound, green lights flickering on it.

"Ah. There we are then," Ratchet said, satisfied. With that same surprising gentleness, he unfastened it from Sam's arm and pulled it free.

"So that's it? You healed my broken arm, just like that?"

"Just like that," Ratchet agreed.

Sam twisted his arm cautiously. It felt perfectly normal. Better than the rest of him, truth be told, his outer hurts mirroring his internal one, a hollow ache inside. "How did you do that?"

"Sam, I am having difficulty explaining it to some of the greatest scientific minds on your planet. I cannot conceive of how to explain it properly to you. I believe it is the great tradition of humans to call such workings 'magic.' "

"Magic?" Sam repeated dubiously.

"Unless you'd care to see the four hour presentation I've been working on concerning our medical technology as it can be applied to humans..."

"Wow, Ratchet, you are one hell of a magician," Sam said earnestly. "Seriously, David Copperfield has nothing on you."

Ratchet made a sound that passed for a laugh, deep and scratchy, "Much better, your heartbeat hardly changed at all. Before I send you back to your quarters to rest, and I do mean rest, there is one other thing."

"Yeah?" Sam said, rubbing his arm curiously. There weren't even any bruises.

"How did you break your arm?" Startled, Sam looked up, Christ, Ratchet couldn't be pushing the issue now, could he? But he had his hands folded together, and just then his posture was so oddly human that it was disconcerting, like a parent. Like his dad. "I can assure you that no matter what the cause, it will never leave this room."

He could tell Ratchet, if he really wanted, Sam realized. He could tell Ratchet everything and suddenly he knew Ratchet wouldn't judge him for it or use that information. He'd try to help if he could or let it go if he couldn't because if there was one thing Ratchet didn't do it was half-measures. He could tell him it all. But for the memory of Sideswipe, pale and flickering, looking at him in misery while his brother did probably unspeakable things to him, not asking but begging silently. _Please_.

Sam looked at him squarely. "I fell."

Ratchet nodded at once. "Yes. Of course." With a loud hum of hydraulics and a louder groan, he rose from the floor and went back to his workbench, picking up his tools. "Go get some rest, Sam, I'm sure Bumblebee is waiting for you."

"Okay," Sam said, uncertainly. Whatever painkiller Ratchet had used on him seemed to be wearing off and standing was easy enough. Walking out to face Bumblebee just now seemed infinitely harder but Sam managed. One foot at a time was the key. And not thinking. Not thinking seemed to be helping a lot. Before he made it to the door, Ratchet spoke again, quietly.

"Oh, and when you see Sideswipe, tell him that I won't cover for him again. Or you, for that matter."

Sam closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, okay."

It took everything he had at that moment to push open the door and step through it, his courage and willpower cobweb thin but he did it, walked into Bumblebee's gentle touch and concern, and let it carry him back to his quarters. But even when he was tucked into the blankets, Bee curled warmly around him, his thoughts refused to be still, little bursts of doubt and fear pushing past the barriers he'd tried to erect around them.

What if the receptors were affecting him in other ways? If they could make him want Ratchet, want Sunstreaker, what else could they do?

He'd told Bumblebee this was real, he'd _believed_ it but what if, what if it wasn't?

No good answer came to him and it took a long time for him to slip into a troubled sleep, one arm tightly around Bumblebee, holding him close.

tbc


	19. Beyond My Brave Facade

Beyond My Brave Facade

* * *

In the two days since Sam had learned that he was the proud owner of the first Human set of receptors, he'd done two things.

Sleep and sex.

Oh, there were a few trips to the bathroom tossed in there and the occasional side trip to actual food, but their ratio in the pie chart of life was minuscule. Sleep and sex was what he had and no matter how worried he was about what those receptors were doing to him and how much he wanted to step back, just for a second, and get an objective look at all of this, every time he tried it always fell apart like a house of cards and left him with the basics. Sleep and sex, and sex, and more sex...and maybe just a little more.

It didn't help that Bumblebee was so very cooperative.

"Oh, God, oh, God...oh..." Sam moaned, hands clenched tight in the oddly soft tangle of Bumblebee's hair. The hot, silken wetness of Bee's mouth around him was the best, absolutely the best way to ever wake up. If Sam hadn't been half-convinced he was still asleep, dreaming of this in blurred sexual pastels, he would have opened his eyes to look. As it was he could already imagine what he'd see. The pale splash of Bee's hair between his legs, the brilliant green of his eyes barely visible from beneath his lashes as Bee watched him. He liked to watch, always, and Sam could guess this was no exception.

The hot suction around his cock made his blissed-out brain less coherent than normal but having it slow, the pressure lightening in minute degrees, was enough to remind him of what he was supposed to be doing. Hesitantly, Sam gathered up the ragged threads of his control and_ reached_, the same way Bee had been teaching him the past two days.

For a brief moment there was nothing, casting out into darkness and like always, that feeling of emptiness made panic ache in his throat. Made it difficult for him to keep reaching, to keep control but he could do this, he could...another endless instant and then he felt it.

Connection.

It was like a flare of wordless emotion, not pleasure so much as just _right_, the incoherent rambling of his sending caught and gathered gently, soothed and comforted and the physical sensation wasn't secondary but it was no longer alone, it was just right, Goldilocks had found the perfect bed, porridge, and chair, all at once.

Bee was sucking him hard, brilliant eyes watching him and that same shimmery purple brilliance touching him in a way that he barely understood, inside him and yet not, and Sam nearly sobbed as he came, choking off desperate little gasps and cries as he threw himself completely into Bee, knowing he would be caught.

_Easy, easy...that's it, you're fine_...Gently soothing, easing him back down, and that was still seriously freaky. It wasn't like telepathy or Sam didn't think it was since he wasn't exactly an expert on the subject. Old Star Trek episodes could only do so much. It was more like a mental text message and what was weirder was knowing he could reply to it, in Cybertronian if he took the time to concentrate on what he was saying.

Of course, if he did that then Bumblebee would answer him the same way and who knew that Robotic terminology could be so _dirty_. Really Sam should be less worried that the other Autobots thought he was a filthy human pervert and more concerned that pervert seemed to be the normal Autobot state of being. Unlike other Autobots, he and Bee had to actually be touching to play mental Instant Messenger but Bumblebee didn't seem to mind and Sam was actually pretty relieved. If he wanted to send messages from a distance, he'd get an Iphone.

Bee let him go with a last gentle kiss on his softening cock, his hands stroking Sam's trembling thighs gently. Which was nice but not what Sam wanted in his afterglow. Impatiently, he tugged Bee's hair and he followed obligingly, met Sam's lips with his own too-hot, swollen ones. Perfectly done, Sam thought faintly, just like his own mouth felt after an extended blow job. Then he didn't much care to think about Bumblebee's skills in imitation, only wanted to taste himself on those soft lips.

Faint strains of music echoed to him, "...honey to the bee, that's you for me..."

"Stop, please," Sam pulled away to groan. "It's way too early for puns."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Bee stretched. "I was only assisting you per Ratchet's instructions. He propped his head on hand, letting his elbow dig lightly into Sam's chest. "Didn't it help? I was only trying to help," Bee added contritely.

His elbow wasn't the only thing trying to dig a hole into Sam. Bumblebee was still hard against his hip, the hot length of his erection pressing firmly. "Yeah, you're a regular charity contributor," Sam mumbled dryly, squirming a hand between them and gripping him tightly.

Bee closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, and just then he was so pretty Sam almost forgot what he was doing, instead staring at the face a few inches from his own. The dark smudge of his lashes against his cheeks, his bottom lip caught lightly between his teeth and knowing it was a construct, something that Bumblebee had created didn't make him any less attractive. This was how Bumblebee saw himself as a human and so that was who he was.

If he'd been less attractive to him, maybe it would have been harder for Sam to doubt. If it had grown on him instead of smacking him with the force of a sledgehammer maybe Sam would be able to relax...no, he couldn't think about this now, not while they were still touching. Bumblebee had assured him time and again that what they were doing was totally not mind reading and that he couldn't hear anything that wasn't deliberately sent but Sam didn't feel like taking chances.

Bee made a soft sound of protest in his throat, thrusting lightly into Sam's loosening grip and he hastily tightened it. Equal orgasms, right.

"You know, I don't have to do this," Sam told him, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Bee's cock in the way that always made him shiver helplessly. "Ratchet only said I had to have sex, you weren't on the list."

"I'm sure he thought it was a foregone conclusion," Bumblebee shuddered a little, pressed his forehead against Sam's as he rocked into his tight grasp. "If...if you like..we can ask him..."

Even the thought of another sex talk with Ratchet was enough of a threat to make Sam start moving his hand with real purpose. Bee was so close that Sam was practically cross-eyed watching him but he didn't want to look away, couldn't, watched Bee's face tighten, his mouth fall open as he whimpered out a string of, "Oh...oh...oh..."

Having Bee collapse against him while still conscious was still pretty new but it didn't mean Sam didn't like it. Sweaty flesh against his own, Bumblebee panting against him, still moving just a bit, like he couldn't be still yet, mouthing kisses against Sam's shoulder and neck.

For just this one moment Sam didn't give a flying fuck whether or not it was alien receptors making him feel like this. He felt good and he wrapped his arms around Bumblebee tightly, held him close.

"I think I like your upgraded sex skills," Sam mumbled into Bee's chest. "It's nice to be able to breathe afterward."

The sound Bee made was almost like laughter and music crackled again around them, "...it's all about the pentiums, baby..."

"Please, stop," Sam begged, snickering a little helplessly. God, he'd been missing this. Sex was all good and well but he'd been missing his _friend_, the jokes and the teasing bits of songs from his car. Like whenever his mom had needed a ride, the radio would immediately blare out with 'Foxy Lady' and all his mom's laughing protests, and his much more horrified ones, hadn't made a bit of difference.

Somewhere in this tangle of sex and receptors and Decepticon death threats, he'd had the best friend in all the world and he honestly wasn't sure what he'd do without it. He still hadn't told Bee about what had happened with Sunstreaker, still hadn't been able to think past panicking over what his receptors might be making him feel. Two days of lying around waiting for Ratchet to clear him for upright duty hadn't given him any insight and all the knowing in the universe that they needed to talk about it at some point wasn't making it any easier for Sam to choke out the necessary words.

Now they were alone and sated, Bumblebee relaxed against him and thinking everything was working out just fine. How much longer could he do this? How could he not tell?

He couldn't.

Sam swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat, managed to work out a single, "Bee?"

Before he could get another word, it came, like a rescue from the Gods of Parental Humiliation; a soft knock on the door. "Sam? Bumblebee? Are you two done? I brought breakfast."

Fighting away his relief, Sam threw his emotions wholeheartedly into embarrassment and pulled a pillow over his head. "Mom, please go away and let me die in peace!"

True to form, his mom pushed the door open since she'd obviously decided if Sam could form coherent sentences, they must be done. He really had to remember to show Ratchet the doctor-patient confidentially clause that human doctors went with. At this point Sam wouldn't be surprised if he'd sent a memo to the whole base letting them know he was sleeping with Bumblebee for the good of his health.

Not that Bumblebee had been any help. Proving once again that Autobots did not know the meaning of the word shame, Bee only sat up in bed like he wasn't completely naked under the sheets and gave his mom a winning smile, "Good morning, Mrs. Witwicky."

His mom set the tray aside and gave a tittering little laugh. "Oh, sweetie, I've told you, call me Judy. Now, Sam, I brought you some orange juice with your waffles, you should really drink as much of it as you can, you don't want to get dehydrated. Bumblebee, I know you don't eat, dear. Have you recharged at all tonight?"

"Not yet, Mrs...Judy," he corrected.

She tutted at him, Sam watching in disbelief as she actually ruffled Bee's hair, pinching one cheek gently. It was plain to see who had replaced _him_ as the favored son.

"Really, I know that you are watching out for Sam but you need to take care of yourself sometimes, too," she scolded. "Go on now, you've done your duty for the morning. I'm sure you have lots of other important things to work on."

"Mom, please-" Sam was almost choking on embarrassment. Bad enough that his mom knew he was having sex, but to call it Bumblebee's duty...

"What? I'm not blind, you know. Go get some rest, I'll make sure Sam eats his breakfast."

"I am sitting right here and I can get my own breakfast, mom," Sam said loudly even as Bee obediently stood up. Sam glared resentfully at the tidy clothes that abruptly appeared on Bumblebee, a black tee and skinny jeans, fucking hell. It was just as well that they weren't real because no human could have squeezed into those and still been able to breathe. If his mom hadn't been there like the world's brightest and bubbliest cock-blocker he would have yanked Bee back into bed.

"Of course you can," his mom said, oblivious to her skills at sexual interruption. "Now, eat up before your waffles get cold."

Behind his mom's back, Bumblebee winked at him and blew him a kiss before abandoning him to his mom's questionable nursing techniques. Dejectedly, Sam dug into his waffles while his mom bustled around him, fluffing up his pillows and tucking in blankets.

The hell with this. Sam was getting out of here today if he had to tunnel under the door and screw what Ratchet thought of it. He could bury Sam under a rock later if he so chose but if Sam didn't get out of this room someone was going to end up dead and right now he wasn't particularly caring who.

Escape came in an unexpected form at noon, when lunch arrived not with his mom but with Mikaela and Prowl.

Before she even set down the tray, Sam blurted out, "You have got to get me out of here."

"Good to see you, too, dead boy," Mikaela said, rolling her eyes. Since his second release from the hospital he'd only seen her long enough to verify they were both in the land of the living, possibly less so for him.

Prowl only smiled, nodding at him as he settled in to lean comfortably against the wall. His holo wasn't nearly as nice as Bee's but it was okay, if you liked the type and to his rather dismal knowledge, Mikaela did. Tall, broad-shouldered football type with dark hair and eyes. Perfect all-American glory.

"Come on, I'm going nuts," he wheedled. "Let's go for a walk, okay?"

Mikaela chewed her lip thoughtfully and for a second Sam thought she was going to refuse. He wondered what threats Ratchet had filled her with if she assisted in an escape attempt. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be intimidating enough because she nodded finally and started rummaging through the clutter of Sam's belongings.

"All right, but if you fall over and start turning into a toaster, I'm not going to be much help," she called, tossing a pair of semi-clean shorts in his direction.

He pulled them on as quickly as he could. Not that he cared if she saw him in his boxers since they'd gone on that route the second time they'd really met, but Prowl was staring at him and it was a little disconcerting. "You should be a doctor, seriously, you have the same bedside manner as Ratchet."

"We should, we're both mechanics." She held up one t-shirt critically before tossing it aside. "I bet on Cybertron Ratchet was just a big old grease monkey, overcharging for oil changes and bitching at everyone for riding their brakes."

"That does sound fairly accurate," Prowl said with some amusement. For being a police car he didn't seem to eager to tattle on them for making their escape and for that, Sam was very grateful. Maybe sex with Mikaela made him lenient...oops, that wasn't bitter at all, now was it.

"Here," Mikaela threw a shirt at his head that Sam caught easily and pulled on, shoving his feet into his shoes. He took the time to snatch the sandwich and soda off his lunch tray and then they were sneaking out the door where Prowl was already idling gently. Sam had a brief flash of Barricade, the last time he'd been in a car with flashers but it faded quickly. Prowl looked nothing like Barricade to him and wasn't that telling in its own way that he could see the differences in more than just their vehicle shape. He wondered if it was another receptor thing or if he'd just been spending so much time with the Autobots lately he could just tell them apart.

He didn't have time to consider it long. The second he sat down a seat belt snaked around him and all he could do was munch on his sandwich and ride along. No one stopped them or even gave them an odd look and whether that was because they didn't know there was an escape in progress or they didn't care, Sam didn't know. Hey, it was all to the good. If Ratchet sent out a search party later, at least it would be a brief one.

For all that he seemed willing to smuggle Sam out of there, Prowl didn't take them far. Just outside of the city, he slowed to a stop near a straggling, twisted tree that offered some shade and let them out. Sam sank down to the ground under it with a sigh, breathing in the fresh air gratefully. He felt perfectly fine, truth be told, and he was starting to suspect that Ratchet only had him on bed rest as a punishment for getting out of it and getting his arm broken in the first place.

Still, they were in the desert and it was a little too hot for the suggested walk. Mikaela settled on the ground next to him, her long legs bare and very tan compared to his own pale, hairy ones. She didn't say anything and after a moment, Sam realized she was waiting, very patiently, for him to talk. Was he that obvious, Sam wondered, and then he didn't much care. He wanted to talk to _someone_ and Mikaela was a good friend, more than a friend, and obviously willing to listen.

"Mikaela-" Sam started, hesitantly, because okay, Mikaela was a good friend but Prowl really wasn't and Autobots were only experts in keeping secrets that they wanted to keep.

"I have a few duties to attend to," Prowl said abruptly, not bothering with either transforming or a holo. "I'll return for both of you shortly."

"That would be great," Mikaela called to him and Prowl revved his engine in response before he drove away. The crunch of gravel beneath his wheels faded and then they were left in the shimmery heat and silence, not so much as a bird chirping around them. It was almost eerie and Sam actually jumped when Mikaela covered his hand with her own and squeezed.

"Okay, Witwicky, spill. You're so wound up I thought you were going to break a spring."

"Inside your boyfriend? I wouldn't dare," he joked, weakly.

"His springs are just fine," she said, tossing her hair back with a practiced twist of her head. "Now tell me what's going on and don't spare the details."

Once, not long enough ago, Sam looked at her and wanted everything he thought she was. It had taken giant robots trying to end the world for him to see her differently, better, and now he knew the look of concern in her eyes, her caring about him, as a friend if not as a girlfriend. Other than Bumblebee, she was probably the best friend he'd ever had.

So Sam took a deep breath and told her. Everything, even the bits that had him squirming in embarrassment and shame. About Barricade's attempted rape and he and Bumblebee's first time in the backseat. About coming to Autobot city and everything, everything that had happened since then. Even about the coldness of Sunstreaker's mouth, of Sideswipe's rescuing him from both Sunstreaker and himself, about how Ratchet and Optimus both had made him hard and how humiliating it had been. The only thing he kept to himself was how he'd broken his arm; that was still a secret wasn't his alone and he couldn't tell, not just yet.

And he told her about Bumblebee. God, everything about Bumblebee, words spilling out of him in dribbles and floods until he felt like he'd spat a book at her feet. Not even the cliff notes version, every tiny gory detail that could possibly matter until he was hoarse from talking, barely even realizing that his eyes were damp and Mikaela had been holding him for some time now.

When he finally managed to stop, the silence was again deafening and Mikaela was practically squeezing the breath out of him.

"Jesus, Sam," she said, finally, the first words she'd spoken since he'd begun. "When you dive into the shit, you just aren't happy until you're neck deep."

"Tell me about it," he said, a little raspily. He took a long sip of Coke, trying to wash away dust and the growing lump in his throat. It was only half-successful. Where was the feeling of relief that was supposed to come with confession, he wondered. It was obviously overrated because he didn't feel a damned bit better, only a little more mentally organized. With a little sigh, he leaned over to rest his head on her shoulder. "So what do I do?"

Mikaela rubbed her cheek against his hair, pressed a light kiss there. If nothing else, it was nice to have someone else who at least knew why he felt half-insane. "Have you told Ratchet about this?"

"Tell him what? After I spent all that time arguing with him that I want to be with Bee that now I'm not so sure?"

"Okay, okay, hang on," Mikaela pulled away and stood up, arms crossed over her chest as she looked back at the city. Even from a distance, it was a fairly stunning sight, faintly gleaming metal and building shapes that were nothing like human cities. It almost blended into the desert, Sam realized abruptly and if it weren't for the fence around it, people probably could have driven past it from a distance and never really noticed it. Blending in, adapting, it was what they did, Ratchet had said. Stood to reason that after a few million years of existence they'd be pretty damned good at it.

"You came up with this idea because you never had an urge for a human guy, right?" Mikaela turned back to him, chewing on one thumbnail as she considered. "You were totally, 100% straight, and you were all over me."

Sam looked at her, not exactly a hardship. She was still beautiful. And strong. And brave and smart and everything a guy could want in a girl and if his receptors had wanted him to jump Mikaela at least once a day before breakfast, he wouldn't have told them no.

But he didn't _feel_ that way about her. Not anymore.

And Bumblebee was...beautiful...and strong..and brave. What was there not to want?

"Yeah. I was. And now I'm not. Part of me just wants to forget about all of this, you know?" Sam admitted. "I mean, so what? Even if I am getting shoved in that direction, is that really just, so horrible? It's just...Ratchet told me they'll adapt and I won't need to pull energy from Bee anymore. What if I wake up one morning and look at Bumblebee," he took a deep breath, "What if I don't feel anything for him anymore?"

"Oh, Sam," she said, pained. "I don't know what to tell you. Prowl and I have been messing around a little..."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She smacked his arm. "A little late for the jealous, Dear John."

"I know. It's cool." It didn't really hurt, just a little twinge in the could-have-been department.

She bit her lip. "It's not like with you and Bee. He was curious and so sad, and I'm not with anyone. He and Jazz were..." she trailed off and Sam blinked.

"Okay, did not know that."

"It's fun for right now but we're not going to be driving off into the sunset or anything like that."

"Oh." He wasn't quite sure what to say to that. His ex-girlfriend-to-friend handbook hadn't explained how to commiserate about her new boy toy.

Mikaela waved off his non-reply impatiently. "But you're the one with the issues right now, we can deal with mine later. So you're concern here is that you aren't gay."

"I...what?"

"You said you were never attracted to any guys," she pointed out.

"Not that I know of."

"But you didn't have any trouble with Sideswipe," she mused, tapping a finger against her lips. "You even managed to suck on Sunstreaker's tongue for a minute, a guy you don't even like."

"But that doesn't matter, don't you get it? They're Autobots! I get near one when my energy is low and I'm all over them. It's like some stupid venereal form of diabetes!" Another joke of the universe at his expense and all he could do was sit here, watching Mikaela with desperate eyes and hoping beyond reasoning that she could think of something.

Because he couldn't do this forever and the longer he waited to figure out the truth, the more Bumblebee would be hurt if the truth was that this was all a horrible facade and All Spark receptors were even more clever at disguising and adapting than any of them could have believed.

"Yeah, I know," Mikaela said, quietly. She considered it for a long time, crouching down to sweep her hands through the pebbles at their feet. "So...maybe you should find a guy who isn't an Autobot."

Sam's growing frustration drained into shock, "Wha-are you serious? You're serious. This sounds like the worst idea ever. Did you get this from Twilight or something?" He'd been hoping for a plan and what he'd gotten was a bad plot from a Lifetime movie.

Mikaela shrugged and sat down next to him again so that she was back in the minuscule shade. "All right, we'll go with your plan, then."

"I don't have a plan!" Sam exclaimed. Mikaela raised an eyebrow at him and he slumped back against the tree. "All right, good point. But how is getting turned on by a human going to help me here?"

"Here's the way I see it. If you can feel attracted to guys who aren't just giant Duracell batteries to you, then you'll know that when your receptor thingies stop running your hormones for you, you could still possibly want Bumblebee."

"But how is that going to help me know how I _feel_?" he sputtered.

She patted his arm. "Oh, sweetie, that kind of therapy has to come from someone who's going to charge by the hour. But if you don't even feel a bisexual tingle, then I'm not sure if it matters how you feel emotionally. Even if you do love him, you won't want to have sex with him and you're going to have to talk to Bumblebee about it one way or the other."

Slowly, Sam nodded. It did sort of make sense. "Yeah...yeah..okay. That's something to go with anyway, right? One problem, though." Actually there were lots of problems with this plan, but there was one big one. "Where am I going to find a guy to test this theory on? I can't just walk up to one of the army guys and say, "Mind if I kiss you? Oh, it's not gay, don't worry, just an experiment! No need to go all, 'don't ask, don't tell' on me."

"Probably not the best idea," she agreed, half-smiling. "But we aren't prisoners on this base, are we? Couldn't we go out for an evening, say we're going to a movie or something? We're in the middle of the desert, not Siberia, there has to be a town around here somewhere."

"Mikaela," Sam said, strangled, "I can't go to a town and just ask some strange guy to kiss me, either."

"You can if we go to a gay bar. We just have to find one nearby. That's why they invented Google Maps."

"To find gay bars?"

She ignored his incredulous yelp. "The only other question is how would we get there. We'd have to go without Bee, of course."

They were actually considering doing this. Sam wondered if he wasn't the only person here who was half-crazy. He blew out a breath, resignedly. "Yeah, and Prowl is out, too. I don't think a police car would be good choice for a night on the town."

"Not really, no," Mikaela said slowly but there was a light in her eye that made Sam nervous. "But Sideswipe would probably take us."

"What-I don't know-"

Mikaela punched his arm in a way she probably thought was companionable but actually just damn well hurt. "Come on, he owes you, doesn't he?"

"What?"

"You lie for shit, Sam. Please. You kissed Sunstreaker to pay him back for saving Bee and then suddenly had to go to the infirmary with a broken wrist because you fell? Please."

"Mikaela," he started, panicked. But she didn't let him interrupt.

"You and I both know you wouldn't keep it quiet for Sunstreaker so you had to do it for Sideswipe," she brushed aside his sputtered protests. "Oh, chill out, I won't tell anyone. But Sideswipe owes you. Might as well use it."

The cloud of dust rising from the road was a pretty good sign that they had run out of time and, sure enough, Prowl pulled up beside them. This time his holo shimmered to life, hands in his pockets as he gave them both a half-smile. "I hope you're ready to head back now. Ratchet said you've been in the sun long enough."

"Why do I try to hide anything from him?" Sam muttered to himself but Prowl seemed to take it as a legitimate question.

"I have no idea, the rest of us abandoned all attempts millennia ago," Prowl said easily. His eyes widened a little as Mikaela walked up to him, smiling at him warmly before she gave him a firm kiss. His hands automatically slid down her back to pull her in close, pale against her tanned skin. Sam looked away and it didn't twinge at all to see that, not one bit, he told himself. It didn't.

Luckily, they didn't draw it out, Mikaela pulled away after only a moment and got into the driver's side. Sam still hadn't stood up and he scrambled to his feet a little clumsily, stiff from sitting for too long.

"Here, let me help," Prowl said softly, giving Sam a slightly abashed look as he pulled him up but then his eyes caught on the tattoo on Sam's bicep and went wide before they narrowed thoughtfully.

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" Sam touched it lightly, almost caressing the dark lines on his skin. "Bee gave it to me."

"I'm sure he did, " Prowl said agreeably, his mouth quirking up in a wry smile, "Possessive, isn't he."

"What-why? What does it say?" Sam frowned, craning his neck to look at it. His limited knowledge of Cybertronian didn't help him read the symbols. They weren't quite like the others he'd seen around the city. Older, maybe? Another dialect? If Earth had hundreds of languages, it stood to reasons Cybertron could have more than one.

"Oh, you don't really think I would spoil the surprise, do you?" Prowl shook his head in mock despair. "You'll have to ask Bumblebee."

"I have!" Sam protested but Prowl had already vanished in a glittering sparkle of falling receptors, his engine revving invitingly. Sam climbed in with a sigh and slouched back in his seat, scowling as the seatbelt clamped around him.

So he had a stupid plan; now he just had to play George Clooney to Mikaela's Brad Pitt and get a crew going so they could do this. While Ratchet was monitoring him and Bumblebee was sleeping with him and his mom was coddling him.

Wonderful. What could possibly go wrong?

tbc


	20. Parental Interaction In The Third Degree

Parental Interaction in the Third Degree  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

The door to Sam's quarters had barely closed behind him before Bumblebee allowed the receptors in his holo to rejoin the rest, stretching his senses back into his real form with sigh of relief. He'd told Sam the truth when he had said it didn't bother him in the least to spend quantities of time in an extended sensor array but there was something to be said for simply being _himself_.

He considered shifting into his car form to recharge but discarded the idea quickly, stretching out on the ground to bask in the sun's rays. It felt good; solar energy was nothing like energon but still enjoyable. In a short time he was more relaxed than he had been for days, hovering on the edge of a much-needed recharge. It had been too long since he'd rested properly and even though he was recovered from the viral attack a little extra recharging would not be amiss.

His last recharge had been days ago, just after Sam's first release from the infirmary. He shifted restlessly as his memory banks called up the moment he had arrived at Sam's quarters and found him missing. A Decepticon attack would have been exceeding difficult but his probability calculators refused to allow him to forget that it wasn't impossible. He'd barely had time to do more than panic, raising his internal alarms to alert all the Autobots in the area when he'd received Ratchet's message about Sam's injury.

His injury. There was a question where that was concerned for which he had yet to receive a good answer. Any gentle inquiry into it made Sam's heart rate spike distressingly high and Bumblebee didn't want to press the issue when he was still recovering. His stress levels were already high and Bumblebee was more concerned with stabilizing his careless receptors. The slagging little bastards were not his and were so far unimpressed with any of his attempts at forcing control into them and Sam was only doing slightly better. Joining with them was a sweet pleasure for which he had no comparison but thus far, joining was all they would allow. The progress was slow but it _was_ progress.

It was that injury still nagging at him, the circumstances surrounding it combined with his own guilt that he had not prevented it made it linger in his thought processors. A simple fall would not be invoking this kind of response from Sam, that was certain. He'd made a single attempt to ask Ratchet what had really happened, both in general and when he had forced him and Optimus leave the infirmary. That very night, he'd left Sam asleep and returned to the infirmary but he'd barely opened the door before something had been thrown at it with great force. His sensors indicated that Optimus was still there and it didn't take a probability calculation to discern what they had been doing.

Just the thought made his intakes shudder. Not that he hadn't already known; everyone knew, at least amongst the Autobots. When your ranks dwindled down into single digits, there were few secrets and you not only knew who was intimate with whom, you also knew the wheres and whens of it. The whys...Bee didn't really like to consider the whys. They were both so _old_ and they had probably been...ugh...he'd nearly _seen_ it. He may not have gotten an answer to his question but at least they had saved him from having to purge his visual memory banks.

"Bumblebee?"

A female voice calling him softly, drawing him from his looming recharge and Bee turned towards it, narrowing his optics. "Mrs. Witwicky?"

She didn't correct him this time and it seemed to Bumblebee that she was diminished in some way, the bright confidence that carried her through Sam's morning ablutions strangely absent. She stepped up to him, hands clasped tightly together and met his optics seriously.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you-"

"You aren't," he reassured her quickly. "Is something wrong? Is Sam all right?"

She didn't answer, twisting her hands together uncomfortably. "Can we go for a little ride?"

"Yes, of course," he said hesitantly. A moments transformation and then he swung open a door for her, the passenger side. Experience had taught him that humans were oddly uneasy sitting on the driver's side if they weren't actively controlling the car. She settled in the seat and he waited until she'd buckled her seat belt before driving off, careful not to peel away. Mothers, he had learned, were not as enamored of a swift exit as were teenage boys. They rode in silence for a while, slowly moving through the roads of Autobot City. Mrs. Witwicky didn't seem to have a destination in mind and so Bumblebee simply drove, keeping his speed to acceptable limits as they passed by humans and Autobots alike. More and more of both were coming to Autobot City and if his Intel was correct, they would have much to do very soon. The Decepticon presence was rising on this world and they could little afford to wait until they had amassed an army before striking.

His passenger only looked out the window, absently stroking the door beneath his window and Bee gave an uncomfortable trill, trying to remind her without voicing it that he could _feel_ that.

She started with a little cry, yanking her hands into her lap so quickly that Bee regretted doing so, but he couldn't think of a way to apologize for it. So many times before she had ridden in him without realizing what he was and he had teased Sam with little snippets of song, relishing Sam's hissed protests and his mother's confused amusement. This time there was nothing but the drone of his engine and Mrs. Witwicky's too-quick breathing.

They were at the edge of the city when she finally spoke, quickly, "Could you stop here? Right here, just let me out, all right?"

"Of course," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He braked perhaps a little too fast, already swinging his door open, just in case she was feeling ill. Not that he didn't sympathize but he didn't relish the idea of cleaning her bodily fluids out of his interior. Sam's he had a long since accepted as endearing.

But she didn't seem ill. She only walked a short distance away, standing in the sunlight. It wasn't quite noon but the sun was already high overhead and ranging into the higher capacity range for humans.

After a moment's hesitation, Bumblebee transformed, settling his larger form on the ground as he watched her walk without purpose. Pacing, he realized, and he didn't have time to consider it further when she seemed to come to a decision, moving to stand in front of him. She shaded her eyes with a hand, looking up at him.

"Is he really all right?" she asked, quietly. "I know him, I know how he is," she gave a shaky laugh. "Even when he was little he always tried to do everything himself, he-" she broke off with a deep breath and met Bee's optics evenly. "Please, just tell me the truth, is he all right?"

Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably, the hard packed dirt beneath him scraping loudly against his legs. "Mrs. Witwicky, I'm sure you've spoken to Ratchet."

"Oh, yes, I have," she nodded firmly. "Probably more than Ratchet would like. He's a dear and he's just delighted to fill in the blanks with all the gory details but that's not what I mean. I can see how he is physically, what I'm asking you," and she laid a hand on Bumblebee's leg, craning her neck to look up at him. "Is he all right?"

It was telling, perhaps, that she didn't ask him to form a hologram for her to speak to. Humans were quite capable of adapting quickly themselves. "He seems fine to me, he seems...restless," Bee admitted, wryly, "I think the imposition of his illness is weighing on him and I'm sure he resents that I am up and about while he is still confined, but yes, I believe he is all right."

She exhaled slowly and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. His sensors indicated that her heartbeat was too fast, her breathing hitched. Upset, distressed, concerned, probable stress and anxiety. No indication of illness or disease. He monitored her a little longer and then shut down his tracking sensors, trying instead for the emotional resonance that she so obviously needed.

"Mrs. Witwicky, I understand your concern-"

"No, I really don't think you do," she broke in, the cool brittleness in her voice taking him aback. She didn't look at him, instead looking over the flat expanse of desert surrounding them where the heat was already shimmering over the ground in the human visual spectrum. "We had Sam a little late in life, you know. Oh, not that late, but most of my friends were already past their diaper days and starting college funds by the time I got my little unexpected bundle of joy."

Droplets of sweat were already sliding down her face, the rising heat ruthless on true organic flesh. It had been Sunstreaker who had pointed out, snidely, that their designated home was a stretch of land inhospitable to humans and despite the fact that the heat and unforgiving nature of the desert posed little problem to Autobots, the fact remained that he had been right. This was not the most pleasant of homes for humans but still, they were here. Sam had followed him and his parents had followed Sam, and so had Mikaela. But for how long?

Mrs. Witwicky wiped at her forehead impatiently with the back of her hand. "But don't you ever think I regretted it," she told him fiercely. "He was a surprise but I never considered not having him. And right now he's supposed to be getting ready for college and I am supposed to be in the middle of my empty nest syndrome but instead he's here, we're here, and he's nearly died more times than I care to count and he's been infected with some kind of robotic mite that forces him to have something like sex or whatever it is you do together and as open-minded as I try to be, I can't help wanting to just scream that he's my baby and it wasn't supposed to happen this way," She shrugged irritably, again uselessly wiping her cheeks but it was no longer sweat dampening them. "So, I think it's safe to say you don't understand my concern."

She was correct; as he'd told Sam, having no progeny of his own, he really didn't understand. But he understood regret. He understood fear, and the deep, wrenching pain when it involved someone you loved and how it felt to watch companions dying all around him in a war that had begun before he had even been designed. Yes, he did understand that.

"I'm sorry," Bumblebee said, knowing it was a useless platitude but having to offer some comfort, no matter how ineffectual. Sometimes there was simply nothing useful to be said.

And just as abruptly she was again the strong, purposeful person he'd come to know the past few days, drying her face on her sleeve. "I'm not blaming you, sweetie, I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. When I married Ron I knew his side of the family was a little odd but I have to say, if I'd suspected this, I may have reconsidered the 'I do'." She smiled again but it was gentler this time, warmer. "For at least a minute, anyway."

"For what it's worth, I swear to you, as long as I have spark, I will never let anything happen to him." It was a pledge he'd made to himself not all that long ago, embedded it deep in his memory banks and making it to the mother of the being he cared about most was as easy as converting fuel. Easier.

Mrs. Witwicky gave another tremulous sigh but there was something easier, relieved in it. She closed her eyes as she nodded. "I know. Thank you for being honest with me. That boy is so stubborn he wouldn't even tell us we had an alien in our garage. I know I can't trust him to tell me about any emotional crisis that might be looming on the horizon." She smiled again and there was pride in it of a kind that Bumblebee had no reference for. "I'd say he gets it from his father but I think we all know better than that."

"Perhaps," Bee replied, allowing a small amount of amusement into his voice mod before he added, with as much sincerity as he could. "I will always be as honest with you as I am permitted, Mrs. Witwicky."

She patted his leg again. "It's Judy, dear. Just call me Judy."

"Judy," he agreed and he stepped back enough to transform, turning on the air conditioning full blast as he took her back into the city and away from the harshness of the desert around them.

TBC


	21. Field Trips Into the Hypothetical

Field Trips Into the Hypothetical

By Keelywolfe

* * *

The drive back into the city was uncomfortably quiet, with nothing but the near silent drone of Prowl's engine humming around them. Sam sat in the passenger seat and focused on looking out the window, watching as the buildings loomed closer.

It was strange how it seemed that almost overnight the city had grown. Buildings that hadn't been here when he arrived were sprawling out further and further into the desert. Barracks, laboratories, maybe? A few of the people he'd seen walking around had been wearing lab coats and Ratchet had said he was working on a presentation for them. He hadn't really asked what else the Autobots were up to, so caught up in his own problems.

Stupid that he hadn't thought about it. Of course it made sense that they'd be doing more than just sitting around playing World of Warcraft. They were settling into this planet, setting up house and getting in good with the neighbors just like anyone in a new place. The government was obviously welcoming them to the party, but that was pretty much a no-brainer, he thought sourly. Just Ratchet's little broken bone gadget would have any country on the planet drooling for a few aliens to move in, no matter what the movies said.

And maybe Mikaela was having similar thoughts, staring out her own window in a way that was still a little disconcerting for someone in the driver's seat.

"Have you noticed that every once in a while, the sky looks weird?" Mikaela asked, frowning. "Like it's flickering or something. It looks like static on a TV."

"Yes, that would be the shield array. Ironhide got it up and running yesterday," Prowl said. His voice mod was measured and cool, but there was something like pride in it. "He was having some difficulty getting it to work in your atmosphere but with a little modification, he finally got it running."

"Let's hope he didn't use microwaves to do it," Sam murmured.

"We do have a vested interest in not cooking all the humans here," Prowl said, amused. "For one, it would take ages to get the smell out."

"Thanks for that," Mikaela said, wrinkling her nose. "So what does a shield array do?"

"Shields," Prowl said promptly and when Mikaela smacked his dashboard, he chuckled, a low raspy sound. "It masks us from any intrusive scanning and also works as a protective measure in the event of an attack. It won't stop all weapons but it will greatly reduce the effectiveness of most."

"Until they get past the shield," Sam said shrewdly.

"It is less effective after that," Prowl agreed. He coasted to a gentle stop, waiting at an intersection for a long train of vehicles to make their way through.

As Sam watched them, the deep muted colors of the military vehicles blurring as they flashed by, he wondered if any of them were actually Autobots. So far the ones that Sam had met had gone with the sweet ride appeal over practicality, even Optimus, mixing bright colors and brilliant chrome with a frame to match their powerful engines. He supposed robotic organisms could be a little shallow, too. Certainly Bumblebee was, in any form.

He was, by Sam's definition, gorgeous; as a car, as a hologram, as a robot, all sleek lines and smoothness, whether he was metal or skin. Thinking about it made a warm throb start low inside him, a yearning that he couldn't be sure was actually his. Not something that he really wanted to feel while sitting here. Hastily, Sam yanked his attention back to the line of vehicles in front of them.

The last truck trundled past them; both crates and people visible in the back of it but none of them had had a visible Autobot marking.

"How many of you guys are here now? I know a few more have shown up in the past couple months," Sam asked. Bumblebee had mentioned names in passing but the only ones he'd met were Prowl, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker. Not exactly exceptional numbers.

"Since the first battle here on Earth, seven more of us have arrived, including myself and the twins. That puts our numbers at eleven now."

"Eleven. That doesn't seem like very many," Mikaela said, quietly. Sam wondered if she even noticed the way she was lightly stroking the steering wheel and he shifted uncomfortably, looking back out the window.

"It's not," Prowl's voice processor was always soft, serene, but there was an unmistakable edge to it now. "Many of our kind on both sides have fallen and without the All Spark, increasing our numbers is both difficult and laborious."

"I didn't even think about that," Sam said, disturbed. The implications were unmistakable. Autobots weren't an endangered species, they were a dying one.

"It is not one I like to consider myself. I…I think I would prefer not to discuss it at the moment."

"Yeah…yeah…" Sam murmured. There was such a wealth of pain in that soft voice, unmistakable no matter the differences of their species. He'd been witness to Bumblebee's sorrow over Jazz's loss; how much worse must it be for Prowl who'd been his…well, his. With an ache, he remembered nearly losing Bumblebee, remembered Ratchet telling him that a thousand years from now Bee would still be mourning his loss with the clarity of a being with perfect memory. He thought of Ratchet and the one he'd lost, nameless to Sam but obviously not forgotten. His reaction when Sam had asked if he and Optimus were a couple was not that of a being of extreme logic.

They rode in silence for a moment, buildings flashing past them, so focused on the world outside that he jumped when Mikaela nearly shouted, sitting up straight in her seat.

"Stop! Stop, right here, stop!" she cried, and both she and Sam were jolted against the seatbelt when Prowl did with a squeal of brakes.

"Is something wrong?" Prowl asked, confused.

"No, just give me a second." She tugged on the door handle and it opened obligingly, letting her out into the noontime heat so that she could run towards a red Viper parked nearby.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, Mikaela, wait-" Sam tried, struggling to follow. But his seatbelt remained stubbornly around him.

"Ratchet told me to get you out of the sun," Prowl said unapologetically. "I have no such instruction where Mikaela is concerned, other than 'keep her out of trouble'."

"And you think Sideswipe isn't any trouble?" Sam said grouchily, slouching back into his seat. He watched in resigned horror as Sideswipe transformed, crouching low over Mikaela who had her hands on her hips, talking up at him. He asked hopefully, "Can you at least hear what they're saying?"

Hopes that Prowl quickly dashed. "No, Sideswipe has put up a silencing barrier around them." Prowl didn't seem particularly concerned about it.

"And that doesn't bother you at all?"

"Should it?" Prowl asked with great interest. The air conditioning gave an icy huff that made Sam shiver. Autobots may have a few million years on humans but they didn't seem to be much of a match in the suspicion and devious areas.

"I guess not," he sighed. With any luck, Sideswipe was telling Mikaela that he was having no part of the Dumbest Plan Ever and he could just go back to his room and sleep, maybe spend another few days hiding from his problems before he talked to Bee about them. It seemed to be working out so far, as long as he didn't mind guilt and fear eating their way through his guts like organic termites. He hoped that Ratchet had taken a class or two on how to treat ulcers.

They were too far away for Sam to have any idea how it was going but he didn't think good things when Sideswipe abruptly transformed again and sped away in a cloud of dust and screeching tires. That didn't seem like an altogether good sign, one way or another. Mikaela's smile as she jogged back to them, on the other hand—

"Taken care of," she said breezily. Even in a tank top and tiny shorts, she was already glistening damply, shivering as cool air obligingly ghosted over her.

"Mikaela," Sam began, weakly. "What'd you do?"

"It's taken care of," she said firmly. "Let's get you back to your place so you can get a nap."

"Agreed," Prowl said. "Protecting Mikaela is already a strain on my capabilities. I'd like to return Sam to Bumblebee's tender mercies before Ratchet takes it upon himself to contact me again. It gives him an opportunity to remind me to come in for recalibration." From his tone, he was looking forward to that as much as human did a prostate exam.

"Oh, please, like protecting me is so hard," Mikaela scoffed.

"I would guess from the way pheromone levels rise when you enter a room, you should be grateful for a guardian."

"Yeah, but whose protecting me from you—"

"Isn't that my place?" Sam interrupted hastily.

"Yes." Prowl came to an easy stop, and Sam's seatbelt slithered away as the door opened. "Do you need assistance getting inside?"

Sam almost choked. "No! I feel fine, I swear, Ratchet's just being paranoid."

"Ratchet usually has his reasons for what he does, despite the perceptions of others," Prowl said cryptically.

"What he means is, get inside and get some sleep," Mikaela leaned over the seat to call out the door. "I'll see you later!"

Sam could only wish he'd imagined the implied promise in that. He gave them both a feeble wave and went inside, sighing in relief at the cool air inside. It was nearly summer, he realized, he'd been here long enough to miss graduation and prom. Not that it really matter when you compared it to staying alive but something about that made him feel a little strange.

Like everything else about this had been totally normal, he snorted inwardly. At the moment, he was more concerned with getting his nap than his GED, so he took enough time to kick off his shoes and yank his t-shirt over his head before he fell into bed, the near dark of his room soothing after the hot sunshine.

* * *

It was possible Ratchet had a small point about Sam taking it easy. It was nearly dusk by the time he woke up to a loud knock on his door. Before he could even decide whether or not he wanted anyone to come it, Mikaela had already slipped inside to frown at him. Before Sam could even protest, she'd flipped on the overhead lights, ignoring his moan as he yanked a pillow over his face.

"Come on, dead boy, get up," she said, already heading back to his perfectly unorganized clothes. She picked up a shirt to examine critically before she looked back at where Sam was still buried under the blankets in the vain hope that if she couldn't see him, she'd leave him in peace. "Up! We have places to go and our ride is waiting. He said that he set it up so no one will miss us for a little while, but we need to leave now."

"Mikaela…" Sam groaned. He lifted one corner of the pillow enough so that he could watch her ravage his wardrobe. "This is such a bad idea."

"We're going to a dance club not a biker bar," she said chidingly, examining another shirt before she tossed it into the pile of rejects. "And Sideswipe will be right there with us." She finally found a shirt that met her approval, a dark charcoal button-down with short sleeves, one of the shirts he'd picked out to wear on base so he looked at least a little more formal. It fell across his face with a flick of her wrist and Sam pawed it off, watching bleary as she resumed rummaging through his clothes.

"You're supposed to put that on," Mikaela said when Sam just lay there, watching her. She was already dressed for clubbing, her hair a loose fall down her back and her clothes, what little there was of them, jewel-tones against her tanned skin. Pretty enough for any club, gay or straight, and he wondered if he'd actually be spending his time protecting her from the X chromosome faction.

"You know, you didn't see me half-naked this often when we were dating," Sam said grumblingly, deciding he didn't much care if she saw him in his boxers, again. He shrugged into the shirt, buttoning it just in time to catch the pants she tossed at him.

"Yeah, and isn't that just a shame," she said. She watched him blatantly as he tugged on the pants, smoothing them over his thighs, before he finally looked at her again, his expression one usually reserved for those on their way to execution.

Mikaela sighed in exasperation. "Sam, you don't have to _do_ anything, remember? Just be friendly. Talk to a couple of guys, maybe dance with one. You're just trying to see if they make you feel tingly below the waist, not inviting them to a hotel room."

Of all the things he'd wanted to discuss with his ex-girlfriend, sexing up strange men at a bar rated pretty low. Even when he'd talked about what was going on with Bumblebee, he'd managed to stick mostly to euphemism. "You realize the only way this conversation would be worse is if I was having it with my mom."

"Ass," Mikaela said, but it was with fondness. "Now get up. At least I'm planning on having a little fun tonight."

It only took a few more minutes for Mikaela to smooth a little product into his hair, enough for him to look less slept in and more a carefully arranged mussed. She pronounced him acceptable to be seen in public and when they finally stepped outside, his first thought was that it was later than he'd expected, the sun edging the horizon.

He could see the dim outline of Sideswipe parked nearby, his normally brilliant color muted in the growing darkness. Sam hesitated awkwardly; he hadn't talked to Sideswipe since that night and so much had happened to them, between them, that he couldn't think of what to say.

Sideswipe spared him from trying to come up with something, both his doors swinging open. "If we're going to do this, let's get it over with," Sideswipe said, his voice an echo of a sigh. "Crouch down on the floor, if you would."

"Sideswipe," Sam started, pausing uncertainly at the door. He let it hang in the air between them because what was he supposed to say? He wasn't even sure what Mikaela had said to him to get him to agree to this. She seemed to think Sideswipe held some responsibility for what Sunstreaker had done but Sam didn't, not at all. It seemed to him that Sideswipe had enough of Sunstreaker to deal with without adding that to the mix.

"Don't," Sideswipe said, a little sharply, and Sam fell silent, settling close to the floorboards with Mikaela. Both doors slammed shut in unison as he drove off, too fast. So they crouched there, miserably quiet, but only a short time later Sideswipe spoke again, curtly. "Hold still down there and don't move or speak. I can mask you but not any sounds you might make."

Silently, he and Mikaela did as they were told. They felt Sideswipe come to a stop, the low rumble of his engine and muted voices from the outside. A moment, two. Sam felt a warm trickle of sweat slide tickishly down his back and Mikaela's arm was pressed hard against him.

His legs were just starting to cramp when Sideswipe finally moved again, slowly, and then picking up speed as gravel turned to asphalt and they were humming along a main stretch of road.

"You can sit up now," Sideswipe said, drolly.

"Thanks," Sam grunted, stretching. Little pops from his back made him groan in relief. Damn, he was way too young to feel this old, he really was.

"The nearest town is approximately forty-five minutes from here. You may as well get comfortable."

They both crawled awkwardly into their seats. It almost seemed strange to fasten his own seatbelt. He'd gotten used to Bumblebee doing it for him.

Bumblebee. Sam swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat and hoped that whatever Sideswipe had done to distract him would keep him from worrying. Before this had just seemed like a stupid idea but now that they were here, it seemed not only stupid but _wrong_ in all the cruelest ways. He imagined how Bumblebee would feel coming back tonight to find Sam missing, not knowing if Sam was safe. This was not exactly the same as sneaking out after curfew back home.

Neither Mikaela nor Sideswipe seemed to be sharing his concerns. "Want me to turn on the radio?" Sideswipe asked easily, flipping it on to a channel with a throbbing bass beat at Mikaela's murmured agreement. Now that they were out of the city, he didn't seem too mad, really, and Sam spared a moment to be grateful for that. Sideswipe had told him once that they did have something of a relationship between them. Sam wasn't sure what he could call it but he still didn't want Sideswipe angry with him.

"You seem to be taking this in stride," Mikaela said, a little cautiously. She crossed her arms over her chest and didn't even both with a pretense of driving.

"Why not?" Sideswipe said, his voice a little tinny from the inside. "You assumed you had me at a disadvantage and you used it to your favor. Autobots aren't above doing the same from time to time. But I hope you realize I would have taken you, anyway, if you have only asked." Just this side of hurt and Sam winced.

"I'm sorry," Sam started but Mikaela interrupted him.

"No, it was my idea, so I'm the one who should apologize. And thank you for getting us out there."

"Actually, I'd rather you didn't thank me for that," Sideswipe said, a little wryly.

"Why not?"

"You do realize we're going to get caught, don't you." Matter-of-factly. "We will each receive our much deserved punishment and be in disgrace with our superiors for some small amount of time. I'm quite sure that all of us will spend an interval wallowing for forgiveness in the near future."

That was not exactly reassuring Sam's fears. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, mastermind."

"I'm not the brains of this outfit, my skills are completely in transportation."

"You got us out," Sam pointed out. Wallowing for forgiveness he could do, it was that first rush of hurt and guilt that he didn't much want to deal with.

"I did," he agreed. "But I also calculate that they will discover one of you is missing within an hour and even if they don't, when we return they will discover you coming back to the city."

"How do you figure?"

"Because they don't run thermal scans when we exit the city but they do when anyone or anything enters. Decepticons can conceal themselves in a very tiny object and they are understandably cautious about it. If they can detect a Decepticon that is as tiny as a pack of gum, I can hardly conceal two full size-humans."

Mikaela and Sam looked at each other in equal parts of dismay. "Why didn't you say anything before you snuck us out?" Mikaela cried.

"I told you," he said drolly, "I'm just the stupid car. In any case, when they send up the alarm, I have an automatic message set up to let them know you're with me. Bumblebee in particular will get a detailed message."

"So you snuck us out because you knew we'd get caught?" Sam asked, disbelieving.

"I snuck you out because you asked me to," Sideswipe corrected.

It was an ominous beginning to their little field trip and the growing lights of the city before them didn't seem particularly inviting. It was smaller even than Autobot City as they cruised in, Sideswipe slowing to the proper speed limit, taking them through clean, nearly empty streets. A sign flashed by welcoming them to Paxton City. Traffic picked up as they went through downtown, lights flickering into washes of neon as they found a street lined with clubs and fast food, the air filling with throbbing techno and the occasional person on the sidewalks.

"There!" Mikaela pointed excitedly. "That one. That was on Google Maps."

"The Rum and Monkey?" Sam said, doubtfully. "You seriously want to go in there."

Mikaela scoffed at his disbelief. "Please. I've seen way worse. Find a place for us to park, transport. Our target is in sight."

"You've got it." Sideswipe pulled into a dimly lit parking lot, managing to creep into the only spot left, so close to the other cars that his passengers barely squeezed out.

Mikaela waited for him impatiently as Sam hesitated when no holographic form joined them. He'd understood why there hadn't been one in the car, since there wasn't exactly an extra seat but he'd expected Sideswipe to go into the club with them.

"Aren't you coming?" Sam said uncertainly.

"I think not. I'll monitor you both from out here. I'm afraid I don't have quite as much confidence in my holographic transmitters as Bumblebee does, not for distance work," he said apologetically. "I'm a few centuries out of practice and I don't think the best place to polish my skills is in a dance club filled with unsuspecting humans."

"C'mon, I'll protect you, handsome," Mikaela called to him, amused. "Let's go dance."

"Yeah, sure," Sam muttered but he let her grab his hand and drag him away. If they were all going to be in trouble, they might as well do something to earn it. He gave Sideswipe one last longing glance before he gave in and followed Mikaela. Stupidest plan ever, here we come.

* * *

It took less than fifteen minutes for Sam to decide that not only was this a stupid plan, it was a really freaking sucky one, too. Not that the club was a bad one; small, sure but they weren't in Los Angeles here and the music was good, the dance floor packed. It looked pretty much just like any other club, not that he'd been to that many in his admittedly short amount of time at eighteen and legal.

Half the problem was that he _was_ eighteen, legal enough to get through the door but not legal enough to go without the wide wristband that declared his status of 'booze-free'. Worse, he didn't have any cash on him and Mikaela had had to pay the door fee. Good thing this wasn't a date.

Mikaela seemed untroubled by any of it; she'd taken the time to sit them at the bar and order them each a Coke and by the time she'd paid for it, a pretty young woman with a cap of short, dark hair was asking her to dance. She'd disappeared onto the dance floor with her and hadn't appeared beyond of a few flashes of writhing bodies since.

With a sigh, Sam finished off his drink, the straw crackling in the bottom of the glass.

"Hey," a deep voice to his right, coupled with a hand on his shoulder. Blinking a little in the flashing lights, Sam looked over his shoulder to see who the hand was attached to; a young guy, his lack of wrist band making a few years older than Sam. Short, dark hair, light blue eyes half-hidden behind the round lenses of his glasses. Cute, maybe a little geeky, and he had a nice smile that was currently being sent Sam's way.

Blue Eyes withdrew his hand enough to sit down next to him, setting a dark, half-empty beer bottle on the bar. "Not into dancing?" he said, loudly enough to be heard over the music.

"Not really," Sam said, ducking his head a little. This was what he was here for, right? Making conversation, making friendly, seeing how he felt.

"Yeah, I don't know why I always let my friends drag me here," Blue Eyes said wryly. "But they seem to do it a lot. Haven't seen you here before."

He let the sentence hang between them, an offer, just a little conversation gambit and this was where Sam was supposed to say something like yeah, first time, or so, what do you do, or any number of idle tidbits. Make conversation, make friendly, only, Sam didn't really need to do any of this. He knew exactly how he felt and mainly, it was that he didn't want to be here.

"Probably won't again," Sam mumbled, leaving his glass on the bar as he walked towards the door. A little rude, maybe, but he wasn't about to lead anyone on, either. He pushed past the small line at the entrance and out the double doors, head down as he walked back into the lingering stuffy heat of the day, towards the parking lot. It really was dimly lit and Sam figured the day could only be made more perfect if he got mugged out here. It really would put the finishing touches on it.

"Sam?" Came softly, from the corner of the lot. He heard a car door opening and turned to see Sideswipe's holo standing there uncertainly, leaning against his own open door. "Are you all right?"

"I can't do this," he said simply. He walked slowly over to Sideswipe and sank down to sit on his hood. It was still faintly warm from the long drive, gentle heat against the backs of his legs, his hands where he braced them so he could lean back. Even within the confines of the city here, the stars were still bright, the cloudless sky cast with thousands of tiny diamond lights.

"Can't do what? Dance?" Sideswipe said, confused. He closed the door and moved to sit next to Sam, head tipped questioningly.

"No, I can't-what did Mikaela tell you?"

"She said the two of you wanted to go dancing and asked me to help you get out of the city," he said, slowly, "But I'm beginning to suspect she mislead me."

"Yeah, well. She wanted to go dancing. But we came here because," he took a deep breath, let it out. "This whole receptor thing has me all screwed up," he admitted.

"I know," Sideswipe said, quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? No, no, that isn't what I mean. Dude, you so do not have to apologize for him, all right?" Sam said in exasperation. "It wasn't even completely his fault, really. I was all over him."

"You should always consider his motives very carefully before you forgive Sunstreaker for anything," Sideswipe said, and there was undeniable pain in those words. "However, you said that isn't what has you upset. So what is?"

"It's just, I have these things inside me making me feel things! And I'd never been into guys before all this happened so what if…" He had told all of this to Mikaela but not so bluntly, avoiding words that he couldn't make himself say but Sideswipe was different somehow. He could feel Sideswipe, just a little. A very faint presence, and through it came his concern, his caring, and that allowed Sam to whisper, "I'm afraid they are making me think I'm in love with Bumblebee."

Whatever he'd expected from Sideswipe, a loud snort of derision was not it. Nor was his laughter, soft but heartfelt as he shook his head. "Is that what you've been thinking?" Sideswipe said, chuckling, "Sam, sexual arousal is a physical response."

"So what?"

The hood was suddenly hard beneath his shoulders, Sideswipe on top of him before Sam could even protest. A knee shoved between his legs made him gasp, arching up a little helplessly to rub against that hard thigh and this he knew, always, this desire, and part of him that he barely understood was already eagerly reaching for a connection he knew was waiting for him. A soft bite just under his chin, hot lips sliding up to his ear as Sideswipe breathed into it, "I can also evoke a physical response from you. Do you love me as well?"

"I…" Sam moaned, trying to twist his head enough to catch Sideswipe's mouth in a kiss. But he'd pulled away, reared back so the only place they were touching was his grip on Sam's wrists.

"Do you?" Sideswipe prompted, keeping him firmly pinned.

Slowly, the heat boiling in Sam's belly eased, although the desire to reach out and connect lingered. A long breath, two, and his head cleared enough for him to get what Sideswipe was saying. He did want Sideswipe and given a chance, and a little lack of control, and he'd probably drop his pants for him right here in the parking lot.

But Sam didn't love him.

Before he could feel more than a rush of relief, another voice came out of the darkness, making them jump.

"Now what do we have here?" The white beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness to land on them and both of them winced away from it, shading their eyes with a hand. The glare kept Sam from seeing too clearly at first, but as the man stepped closer, his heart sank. He'd watched enough television to know a uniform when he saw one.

"Officer," Sam blurted out, scooting down off the hood enough to stand. Sideswipe followed, standing a little behind him. "Hi. We were just…we were…going…" He gestured a little helplessly at the road. Leave. They were just about to leave, he was sure of that. The officer stepped closer, close enough that Sam could read the bar pinned above his breast pocket. Deputy Harper. Brilliant.

"Awful nice car for the two of you to be getting fingerprints on," Deputy Harper said almost lazily, but the flashlight never wavered from him and Sideswipe.

"It's my car," Sam said defensively. Sideswipe was frozen next to him, hands clenched and whatever impulse he was resisting, Sam hoped he resisted it a little more. He hadn't watched nearly enough Law and Order to know what the fine was for making out in public but he damned well knew that assaulting a police officer was not the kind of misbegotten behavior that would get them off with a lecture.

"Your car? Is that right?" the Deputy drawled. Sam tried not to groan. A cop camped outside a gay nightclub had probably not been patrolling for cars that were illegally parked. "You have some sort of I.D. on you to back that up?"

Sideswipe blinked a little, managed a soft, "I...no."

"Uh huh. You?"

"Yeah, I-" Sam felt for his wallet and realized that it wasn't there. Christ, had cute glasses-boy stolen his wallet or had he just managed to lose the damned thing? He hadn't even had any money, what kind of karmic clusterfucking was this? "I guess I actually don't."

Deputy About-To-Nail-Their-Asses pursed his lips, although he flicked the light down from their faces, at least. "Let me see if I have this right. The two of you are out drinking and driving around with no I.D., on top of public indecency." He shook his head. "Boys, that is not the way we do things in Paxton City. I think you better come on down to the station with me until we get this straightened around."

This could not be happening. There was just no way this was actually happened and it wasn't until he and Sideswipe were both sitting in the backseat of a patrol car that reality started to sink its teeth into Sam's belief system. Sideswipe was stiff next to him, his expression frozen as they drove away from his real body. He kept blinking, almost trembling, and Sam laid a hand on his arm, homophobic deputies be damned.

"Are you okay?" Sam murmured under his breath, but the car was alive with the sound of the radio anyway, a jumble of numbers and codes that he didn't understand.

"Fine," Sideswipe said tersely. "Just trying to focus. I'm following from a distance."

"Just hold on," Sam told him softly. "Stay with me." Probably the last thing that would help them out here would be having one of them vanish into dust. Somehow, he didn't think it would make this guy any more inclined to cut them a break.

Sideswipe nodded, a little jerkily. "I'm trying. Just not used to this, anymore."

"It'll be okay," Sam rubbed Sideswipe's arm a little, not knowing if he was helping or making it worse, but Sideswipe didn't protest. The deputy gave them a sharp glance in the rearview mirror but otherwise kept his eyes on the road, paying no mind to the low murmurs from the backseat, nor the pair of headlights following them from a few blocks away, moving easily through the streets despite the lack of a driver.

"Stay with me," Sam whispered quietly, over and over, even as Sideswipe trembled next him, eyes shut tight. Deputy Harper was telling someone named Ann that he was bringing a couple in, something that Sam sincerely hoped was true.

He kept talking softly to Sideswipe, finally settling his hand over one of Sideswipe's shaking ones, wincing hard as his fingers were abruptly caught in a near death grip. Just stay, just stay, over and over, and Sam really hoped he'd paid enough into his karma debt for the day or else things were about to get a lot worse.

Somehow, he thought that being in disgrace with their superiors was going to be the least of their worries.

tbc


	22. Arrested Developments of the Heart

Arrested Developments of the Heart

* * *

In his one other experience in actually being arrested, Sam hadn't actually seen a jail cell. After the handcuffs had come off and he'd called his parents all he'd gotten out of the rest of the experience was a cup of truly awful coffee and chat with the Martin Riggs of his local police force.

Thus far, he couldn't say that Paxton City had much more to recommend to prospective detainees. Neither of them had ended up in handcuffs, this was true, but sitting in the only cell in the basement of the world's tiniest Sheriff's department wasn't much of an improvement.

"Aren't they supposed to read us our rights or something?" Sam asked, not moving from his sprawl on the thin mattress of his cot. He had an arm flung over his eyes, blocking the harsh glow of the fluorescents streaming down on them from wire caged fixtures. The cell was stifling hot even though the sun had gone hours ago and Sam's shirt was clinging damply to him.

"I'm not completely familiar with criminal law in your country, but I think he only has to do that if he officially arrests us. Right now, we are only being detained." Sideswipe was sitting on his own bunk stiffly and Sam wondered what anyone else would think of his odd posture, unmoving except for his lips as he spoke; conserving energy by using the barest necessity of power. He'd even stopped blinking and it was weird to realize just how much effort must go into making their Holos seem real. Breathing, talking, blinking, body temperature, so many tiny little details. Bee really was brilliant at this, he realized, and Sideswipe obviously wasn't bad himself if the difference was so obvious.

"Detained. That's great," Sam snorted. They had taken their names, ranks, and serial numbers…well, in Sam's case his name and driver's license number, before locking them up in here. On the plus side, the deputy wasn't being a total dick.

He'd passed them off to another Deputy, the Ann from the radio turned out to be a young brunette and she had been all business. Names and I.D. number, then blow into the breathalyzer and Sam wished he could say it was the first time he'd done that. Back in his hometown all the police had needed to do was spot Bumblebee and Sam would know he was in for another impromptu fifteen minute test of his sobriety. Sideswipe had barely spoken, murmuring the name Stephen Collins, whoever the hell that was. Sam hoped that there was a fake I.D. attached to it from somewhere.

"You know, even if they give us one phone call, I don't have anyone I can call," Sam said. Might as well revel in the misery of the situation. "They'll probably end up fingerprinting us and then arrest us for real."

"That would be inconvenient since I don't even have fingerprints," Sideswipe said ruefully. His fingers twitched just a little, as though he was considering what to do about it. Aside from simply existing, Sam hoped like hell that whoever Stephen Collins was, he didn't have a record.

Sam rolled over to lie on his side, watching Sideswipe in his creepy, no-moving mode. "And what about Mikaela? We left her all alone at that bar. She's probably freaking out by now."

"We've been gone approximately three hours, so I'm certain they've noticed you missing and are in search of us. Even so, she probably contacted Prowl for a ride."

"Contacted Prowl?" Sam frowned, leaning up on one elbow, "How? Did she get in on the wrist communicators or something?"

Sideswipe face moved the tinest bit, eyebrows drawing down faintly in visible confusion. "I believe you refer to the technology as cell phones," he said dryly.

"Oh." Sam flopped back on the bed. When they got back, if Ratchet and Bumblebee ever forgave him, he was definitely getting a new cell phone. And programming the numbers to every damned Autobot into it. Come to think of it, he had a non-living, non-breathing one sitting here with him right now. "Hey, if you guys have built in cell phones, can't you contact them? Get them to post bail or whatever it is you do with detained people?"

"I'm afraid to take my focus out of this form," Sideswipe said and his voice did sound odd. Rougher, maybe. "If I do, I might not be able to maintain it and if that happens, I guarantee I won't be able to reform it. My knowledge about your police customs is solely based on the TV shows Cops and In the Heat of the Night, but even so, I can guess they wouldn't be happy to come back and find me gone."

"Sucks," Sam murmured, closing his eyes. It was so hot but he dimly realized that he was shivering a little despite it, a familiar ache rising slowly in him. Sweat was beading on his upper lip and he licked it again, tasted salt and faint moisture that only made thirst tighten in his throat. Oh, bad, bad timing, that greedy aching that heralded the depletion of power in his receptors was just beginning, an odd, rising soreness that he knew from past experience would just get worse. Why the hell was it taking them so long to figure out how to draw energy from him? Ratchet and Bumblebee had both taken a stab at explaining it to him, but a single receptor had to be at least as bright as the latest version of the Ipod. He was starting to think they just liked the sex they got out of the deal and wouldn't it just make sense that in a collection of alien robot perverts, he ended up with his own micro set.

"Are you all right?" Sideswipe asked abruptly. It sounded distant but Sideswipe wasn't that far away, only a couple of feet and Sam's eyes felt too heavy to open enough to look at him, that achy, itchy sensation lingering just under his skin was collecting low in his belly, rising heat and he knew exactly what happened after this. After this, Bumblebee came to him and usually managed some truly inspiring variation of sex. The very best that the porn industry had nothing on an alien with instant access to Google.

"Sam?" Sharper this time, demanding an answer and with a tremendous effort Sam managed to open his eyes. Some life have leaked back into Sideswipe's still form, concern visible on his face.

"Yeah," Sam replied, dimly surprised at the thickness in his own voice, the heavy sound of growing need, "I just haven't seen Bee since this morning."

Sideswipe gaped openly at him, "Are you crazy? Did either of you put any thought at all into this idiotic plan…no, don't even answer. It's obvious you didn't."

The world seemed scalding and wavery, the shimmer of the desert without the glow of the sun and through it, Sam watched Sideswipe carefully stand, shifting in slow, faltering steps to sit down on the edge of the bunk. He raised a hand and hesitated there before uncertainly setting it on Sam's chest, just over his heart. The feel of it made Sam want to squirm, arch up and beg but all he could manage was a feeble moan.

It wasn't much but that light contact must have offered him something because Sam's vision cleared a little and he managed to raise his own hand, settle it over Sideswipe's.

"My power cells aren't doing that great either," Sideswipe said grimly. "We need to get out of here before they come back to find one unconscious prisoner and one vanished."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, barely hearing him. All he wanted was that touch, for Sideswipe to touch him more and then he'd feel better, he knew he would. Helplessly, he tried to push Sideswipe's hand lower, just a little, down to where he was so, so hot, knew that cool fingers would feel so good against him. But Sideswipe was as unmovable as a brick wall. His touch on Sam's chest was firm, gave him the tiniest sense of _contact/electric blue/contact_, but it refused Sam's attempts to move it someplace better.

Above him he heard a sharp word in Cybertronian, one that didn't need translation as Sideswipe added a short, "Fucking hell!" under his breath.

He stood, let Sam keep clinging to his hand when he immediately started to protest, allowing him to twine their fingers together. "Office," Sideswipe called, then a little louder, "Officer, please, my friend isn't well—"

Like that was going to work, Sam couldn't say. That was like, a classic ploy in the villain handbook. Play sick and get them close enough to take them out. Even Paxton City cops had to know better than that. Only to his dim surprise, an officer did come down only it wasn't Ann or Deputy Harper, this guy was in a State Trooper uniform, not a Sheriff and there was something odd about him, something that made uneasiness slither up Sam's spine.

He had one frozen moment to see Sideswipe's expression change, to watch him move in a blur of motion to pull Sam off the bed and onto the floor, covering him with his own body.

"DOWN!"

Later, Sam couldn't even remember if it had been a verbal shout or just a burst of sound thrust directly into his head but in the end, it didn't matter. He didn't even have a chance to respond to it, only buried his face against Sideswipe's chest, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt as Sideswipe wrapped both of his arms around Sam's head. He could feel the abrupt surge of energy around him and knew without asking that Sideswipe had put up some sort of shield around them, all in a matter of an instant but still barely in time as a rain of blasts fell over them along with a shower of sparks from impact on the concrete floor around them.

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, Sam could feel the heat of those blasts even through the shield and Sideswipe himself, hot enough to make him flinch and instinctively cringe harder into the floor. There was a low sound against his ear, sharp and pained, and Sam abruptly opened his eyes. Autobots felt pain even in their Holo forms, certainly Bumblebee had, and maybe Sideswipe wouldn't die but he could certainly hurt and from the rising sound against Sam's ear, he could hurt a lot.

He was weakening, shaking over Sam as blistering shots of plasma rained down on them and it felt utterly natural to reach out and _push_, shoring up the faltering shields around them. How he did it he couldn't have said; it was as easy as breathing, reaching out and pushing his own energy into it until the low keening in his ear faded and Sideswipe relaxed a fraction against him. No connection, not with this one, but he was close, so close, and Sam…Sam didn't love him, didn't, but he felt something. Something.

It ended as abruptly as it began, the ringing in Sam's ears slowly fading as Sideswipe lifted his head. The concrete around them was pitted and crumbling, the outline of their bodies the only clear spot left in the entire cell but the state cop, who sure as fuck _wasn't, _was gone, not so much as a dusting of dead receptors still hanging in the air.

"Come on," Sideswipe said sharply, and Sam barely took his hand before Sideswipe pushed him against the bars, covering him with his own body again.

"What—" Sam started only to be cut off by an explosion of concrete, clouds of dust rising until he was coughing and spitting, squinting through the debris in the direction of what used to be a barred window.

"Sideswipe!" Loudly, from outside, and Sam was already following it, crawling over chunks of concrete and the twisted remains of the camp beds.

"Go, go, go!" Sideswipe shoved him hard, his voice already dissolving into static as he faded and was finally gone, the last of his auxiliary receptors used up. Breaking out of jail would have seemed like overkill just five minutes ago but now with one half of the cell crumbling in on itself and what was almost certainly Decepticons trying to murder him, it was definitely the best option on the table. Still coughing, Sam went in the direction that Sideswipe pushed him, crawling haphazardly up the remains of the outer wall. It was slow going, chunks of wall falling away sending him sliding down as often as they provided handholds to get him up and it seemed to take forever to get close to ground level. A hand reached down to him and Sam took it unthinkingly, barely noticing its inhuman chill until he was face to face with its owner on the sidewalk outside.

He blinked a little at his rescuer, felt the irritating cling of dust in his lashes and caked on his face before he said without considering, "What the hell are you doing here?"

It was fascinating how much Sunstreaker looked like Sideswipe and yet not at all. Aside from their coloring, the lines of their face were a perfect mirror match, nothing that human twins could ever hope to achieve. It was the unmistakable coldness in his eyes that would always give him away, the icy humor was never an expression Sideswipe had worn.

"Humans really have no idea how to express gratitude, do they?" Sunstreaker observed blandly. He was still holding Sam's hand, one thumb stroking lightly over the knuckles. Sam yanked it free and Sunstreaker released him immediately, that single touch still crackling in his eyes.

"Thanks," Sam snapped out. He knew entirely too much about Sunstreaker's idea of expressing gratitude as it was. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I don't need to be a communications officer to know when he's in trouble," Sunstreaker said coolly. His gaze flicked behind Sam, observing his brother as his alternate form drove up beside them. "I came as soon as I felt your agitation."

"And I never have I been more grateful," Sideswipe said wearily.

"Oh, but I have _your_ gratitude? Well, this is a day for miracles, isn't it," Sunstreaker watched his twin dispassionately. "You're almost out of power and he's not much better. Let's get out of here, shall we?"

He turned away without waiting to see if they followed , his car form turning into the parking lot and driving up to them. Sunstreaker braked silently right in front of Sam and opened his passenger side door invitingly. Ignoring that entirely, Sam walked around him to his brother, opening the passenger side himself. He'd walk back to base with a dozen Decepticons shooting at him at once before he'd ride with Sunstreaker.

"Wait," Sam hesitated, one hand still on the door handle as he turned to look at the Sheriff's office. Deputy Harper's car was still parked out front and no one else had come in yet to check out the smoking remains of the former jail cell. "That Deputy, Ann, we can't just leave them, what if they're hurt-"

"Decepticons either ignore humans or kill them. Either way, there's nothing you could do about it," Sunstreaker said bluntly. Sideswipe said something too quick and sharp for Sam to translate but his twin's sullen expression didn't make it hard to grasp.

"I can detect two heartbeats inside," Sideswipe said after a moment, "They are not in distress so I would say he knocked them unconscious before coming after us."

"Who came after us?" Sam demanded, although he had his suspicions.

Suspicions that were confirmed with one word. "Barricade," Sunstreaker said shortly. "I saw him when I arrived. Took out his holographic relay before he noticed me. I trust that was helpful?"

"Yeah, it was," Sam said honestly. Damn it, he probably owed Sunstreaker his life. Sideswipe probably hadn't dared to focus on his mech half for fear of losing control over his holoform and leaving Sam defenseless. They had literally been caught in a deadly catch-22 until Sunstreaker had arrived.

"He took off into the city. Alone," Sunstreaker added, his holo leaning against his own driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at his twin.

"We are not to engage at this time, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe said sharply. "Too many humans, including this one."

"I don't need you to tell me that a bear shits in the woods," Sunstreaker said but his eyes were gleaming with an unholy light that made Sam think of glee. Sick bastard probably loved arguing with his brother, with anyone, and he'd probably delight in tearing down this city just to get one Decepticon.

Issues, hell, Sunstreaker was an entire catalogue of malfunctions as far as Sam was concerned.

He startled a little as Sideswipe's door shifted against him, encouragingly, "Get in. We need to leave, now."

They did. Already he could hear sirens coming up the street, other officers coming to find out what the hell had happened and lingering around the remains of a jail cell seemed like the very epitome of bad idea.

"He could ride with me, if you're too tired for passengers," Sunstreaker said, his voice mod entirely too wintry to manage anything like coy.

"Fuck you," Sam said tiredly, slouching into the passenger seat.

"You already attempted that," Sunstreaker reminded him. His holo vanished as he pulled out, not bothering with a facsimile of a driver as he turned onto the main street and sped away, Sideswipe close behind him.

It wasn't worth telling him to shut up, all the worse because he was right. All the bitching in the world that it hadn't really been his fault didn't make it any less true.

"Bumblebee would kill you if you tried it again," Sam muttered. He looked out the side window at the blur of houses, watched as they made their way swiftly to the city limits.

"I'm not afraid of your little tin protector," Sunstreaker sneered, his voice thin and staticy through Sideswipe's speakers. Sam wondered why Sideswipe was even letting him hear his brother, then wondered if maybe he couldn't stop him. No other Autobot aside from Ratchet could easily break through another's firewalls, Sam knew, but they shared a spark. It was possible they couldn't keep each other out and Sam shivered a little thinking about it, about Sideswipe having to endure this constant presence.

"If you hate him so much, why did you bother saving him?" Sam snapped out, finally. "You almost killed yourself doing it, for what? So you can hold it over his head for a thousand years?"

Silent and Sam thought Sunstreaker was too pissed to answer. The radio cracked faintly as Sunstreaker said slowly, "He's an Autobot."

"So what?"

"I do not play with emotions or pretend to care when I don't," Sunstreaker always sounded cold, wintry words and touch, but now his voice mod was pure black ice, arctic depths. "But don't you ever believe I would sacrifice one of my own to the Decepticons."

"I never believed that," Sideswipe disagreed softly, aloud, letting Sam hear him when he certainly didn't have to.

"Of course you do,_ brother_," Sunstreaker said scathingly. "You believe I am capable of anything."

"In most cases, you are."

His laughter at least was honest, bitter humor. "I'm sure it would be safer for everyone concerned if you never forget that."

"I—" Sam started, words he bit off abruptly, barely managing to gasp out a cry as every muscle in his body abruptly clenched into _pain_. Enormous, eye wateringly sharp, and Sam convulsed helplessly, felt a distant secondary hurt as he bit his lip, the warm rush of blood flowing down his chin. He jerked painfully against the seatbelt, tasting the hot iron tang of his own blood and God, hurt, it hurt—

"Hurts!" he moaned, shrill and panicked, "God…hurts…make it stop! Make it stop, it hurts…!" His voice rose into a wordless scream as he struggled against the seatbelt and the confines of the car around him, his hands scrabbling helplessly against the door and the middle console.

"Sam!" Hands against him, yes, the seatbelt snaking away and Sam tried to lunge into those arms, yes, touch, that would help, the arcing pain through him like being electrocuted and it wouldn't stop, barely faded as he managed to force one of those hands beneath his shirt to press against bare skin.

"Yes," Sam breathed, "Yes, more, yes, touch me…more, more." He was begging shamelessly, clutching those hands against his bare skin and his panic rose as they refused to move. "More!" he nearly screamed it. "I need it, I need it, more."

Babbling out words, a rush of desperate nonsense.

"Sam…" Sideswipe's voice was as weak as his touch, his hands limp under Sam's, moving only when Sam forced them. "Sam, I can't do this, I can't—"

"You'd rather he go into a coma?" Sunstreaker, Sam realized dimly, and he couldn't care about his cool amusement, only wanted touch, touch would make the pain stop, he knew that, he knew. "We couldn't get back to base in time for the little insect to help him if we had transwarp engines."

None of it really registered to Sam. His attention was all on those hands, cool but not unnaturally so, warming against his skin as he tried to force them lower, lower, down to where he was so painfully hard, all the agony in his body focusing there with diamond-sharp precision. And still there was resistance, Sideswipe refusing to obey and only lingering beneath his shirt. One of his fingers brushed against Sam's nipple and he gave a choke cry, arching up in a near convulsion.

"Sideswipe, give the boy what he needs or I will," Sunstreaker, gleefully taunting. "I think he'd be very receptive."

"Bastard," Sideswipe hissed, his fingertips digging lightly into Sam's chest.

"Better than a coward."

Silence, nothing but Sam's whimpers and panicked gasps for breath as he writhed between the seat and Sideswipe's reluctant hands. The pain was growing again, washing over him in rising waves, and Sam let out a near sob, tasted another surge of blood as his teeth caught against his already wounded lip.

"Sam," Sideswipe whispered urgently against his ear. "I want you to listen to me, can you do that?"

"Yes," Sam whimpered. Lust was overshadowed by pain, pain, please just make it stop.

"I want you to touch yourself, can you do that?"

For a moment, Sam didn't understand him, couldn't, only felt his fingertips graze lower, to the fly of his pants and he lurched towards the touch, couldn't even feel humiliation as Sideswipe pulled away and grabbed his hands, forcing his fingers to wrap around the heavy heat of his own erection, gripping his cock firmly.

He shook his head before he could even form words, felt the trickles of sweat sliding down his temples even with the cold air blasting from the vents. "No!" Sam wailed, "No, I need you, please, I need you!"

But Sideswipe was touching him nowhere but the back of his hand, his grip unrelenting as he forced Sam to move, one hard stroke, another, and there was some pleasure, too much of a relief to actually feel good, but he hesitantly did it again, obeying Sideswipe's unspoken command.

"I need more…touch me," Sam pleaded, indescribably wounded at the distance between them.

"I am," Sideswipe soothed him, "I'm all around you, you can draw from me, Sam. I'm touching you. Beneath you, against you, I'm here, Sam, I'm here." A comforting drone of words as he stroked himself but…no, not enough touch.

Sam shook his head wildly, licking his lips to taste his own sweat and blood, "I can't, please…"

"Yes, you can," Sideswipe squeezed his hand, firmly, "You can, I'm here, reach for me."

He was trying, Sam couldn't say, he needed it so much. The pain was lessening, easing into desire and he arched hesitantly into his own hand, the familiarity of his own grip as he tightened it.

"Yes, Sam, that's…stop that!" So sharply that Sam did, eyes flaring open in startlement. He caught a glimpse of Sideswipe's face close to his own, eyes shut tight.

"Not you, Sam," Sideswipe immediately reassured him, the lightest pressure of his fingertips against Sam's wrist. "Touch yourself, make yourself feel good."

He did, hardly able to stop himself again but Sam hadn't imagine Sideswipe's soft moan. Managed to open his eyes the barest slit and saw Sunstreaker was curled around Sideswipe, the both of them sprawled into what little cramped space that the driver's seat had to offer. There was nothing particularly sexual in the embrace, his arms curled tight around Sideswipe's chest, eyes glittering fiercely. Sam had always equated Sunstreaker with cold, no part of him living up to his name. Until now and here there was his inner heat, burning as hot as a blue flame, and Sam couldn't look away from it, felt the stirring of a sending and he caught it automatically, as sharply as if Sunstreaker had screamed it into his head.

_Mine_.

Yours, Sam agreed dimly, even as he felt the sweet, hot rush of_ connection_, even as he came into his own hand, felt the hot spurts of his own orgasm against his palm and the _surge_ of energy, his receptors greedily drinking it in from anyone who was offering, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Sam had no damned idea except he could suddenly relax, pain easing.

The sound of sirens was the first thing that registered to him, distant yet, but visible, and Sam looked through the back windows a little wildly, wondering if maybe Deputy Harper had taken the time to run Sideswipe's plates. Only the flashing lights were coming from in front of them, approaching rapidly.

"Is that Prowl?" Sam asked, uncertainly, and he was abruptly aware of how he looked. Stained pants and shirt, he felt and surely looked well-used, and Autobots who could sense arousal pheromones were hardly going to miss the smell of come all around them.

The sudden burst of Cybertronian through Sideswipe's speakers was loud enough to make Sam wince and he repeated it as his receptors helpfully translated the string of foul swearing into something he could almost comprehend, all of it directed towards Sunstreaker.

"I told you we'd never make it to the base and I meant it," Sunstreaker said and for once there was nothing like gloating in his voice mod, only calmness. "I had no idea they were going to meet us halfway. I've been cut off from communications since I left."

They, Sam saw with growing horror, were the main contingency of Autobots on the planet, all heading towards them with the same speed and urgency that they had when they'd been on their way to Mission City. Conspicuous in his absence was Bumblebee, no sign of the yellow Camaro in the procession drawing rapidly towards them.

"Completely cut off?" Sideswipe snapped out, clearly not believing him.

"You don't really think they let me out for a midnight drive, do you?" Sunstreaker said waspishly. "I had to sneak out! I'll be lucky to survive Ironhide's wrath when he sees what I did to his sensor array."

"Afraid of Ironhide?" Sam asked bitingly, unable to help himself.

"Hardly, you witless little ape," Sunstreaker hissed out with a burst of static, "But neither am I a fool."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both slowed as the others came closer, Optimus in the lead, and when they finally met, both Vipers pulled off onto the shoulder, giving Optimus wide berth as he came to a stop.

This was all his fault. No matter what ideas Mikaela had come up with or how fucking annoying Sunstreaker was, this was all his fault and the realization that he had nearly died more than once tonight was sinking in hard. Sam took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping out to face Optimus as he transformed beside them, heedless of any other humans on the remote stretch of highway.

Before he could speak, Optimus beat him to it, saying only, "Sam. Go with Ratchet."

"Wait," Sam started, this was his fault and the twins were going to suffer for it. The others were in a near semi-circle around Optimus, all of them facing the twins and this sure as hell didn't seem like they were just in disgrace with their superiors like Sideswipe had mentioned earlier. This looked more like a firing squad and how the others could look so cold and disapproving while still in their car forms was something Sam didn't have time to speculate about.

"No, this is my fault, it's not them—" Sam tried and Optimus cut him off sharply.

"Go with Ratchet. Now," he ordered and his voice reverberated like thunder.

"Go, Sam," Sideswipe said, so softly. He didn't transform and neither did Sunstreaker, who was noticeably silent next to him.

They weren't going to listen to him, Sam realized with growing dread. This was all his fault and they weren't going to listen. With sudden, impotent fury Sam slammed the door shut as hard as he could, nearly running over to where Ratchet was waiting, his engine idling. He'd barely climbed in when Ratchet took off in a bleat of sirens, speeding down the highway as Sam hastily buckled his seatbelt. He turned back enough to look behind them, watched as Sideswipe finally transformed and then they were too far away for him to see anything else, only a blur of lights that rapidly faded as they drove into the blackness of the highway.

The drive had seemed much shorter on the way to the city, Sam decided tiredly. Exhaustion was gnawing at him like an ache, the clock in the silent radio declaring that it was well past one am.

Ratchet hadn't said a word to him and the silence was worse than his exhaustion. This whole thing was his fault and right now he almost wanted the lecture, if only to get it over with.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Sam asked finally, barely more than a whisper.

"Perhaps in a moment," Ratchet said curtly. His headlights flared into brights for a moment before flicking back to normal. "Currently, I am going through various algorithms in an attempt to calm myself before speaking. I calculate the odds of me saying something at this moment that you would consider unforgivable or emotionally damaging is too high to risk."

Sam swallowed hard. "Oh."

Somehow he didn't think the word 'lecture' was going to cover it when Ratchet finally did decide he was calm enough to talk. He didn't have to wait long.

"Perhaps you misunderstood me when I told you that if you had any questions, I would be happy to address them with you," Ratchet said scathingly.

"No," Sam murmured. "I just—"

"That must be the case because it's the only reason I can conceive of that you would sneak off base in order to test a crackpot theory that I could have easily told you was incorrect. I spoke with Mikaela when Prowl returned with her," Ratchet said. He sounded disgusted and Sam cringed against his seatbelt. "Your receptors didn't activate until Bumblebee was attacked by the virus. Until then, they were lying dormant within you."

"Oh," Sam said weakly.

"Oh," Ratchet mimicked grimly. "And instead of simply asking, you stupidly left a military establishment in secret, cause a great deal of upset amongst all of the soldiers, human and Autobot alike when we discovered you were missing, were nearly killed by the Decepticons and may I remind you they are the reason you were with us to begin with, for your protection, not to mention that neither you nor either of your comrades in arms told us where you were, Sideswipe shut off his tracking devices which is a fairly high offense—"

"What's going to happen to him? Sam interrupted. His guilt had doubled, quadrupled, thick enough that his chest hurt with it, God, he was so _stupid_.

"Be more concerned with what is going to happen to you!" Ratchet nearly roared. "He and Sunstreaker will get their much-earned punishments on their own!"

"It was my fault and they shouldn't be getting into trouble for it!" Sam shouted back, his voice cracking.

"Yes, I'm quite certain that you hijacked Sideswipe at gunpoint," Ratchet said dryly but his voice mod was calmer. "Sunstreaker, on the other hand…" a simulated sigh came through Ratchet's speaker. "They are Optimus's concern, not yours."

"Not if they are in trouble because of me," Sam insisted stubbornly.

There was a long silence, nothing but the drone of Ratchet's tires on the road. The soft chuckle startled him, Sam warily looking at the speakers for lack of a face to glare at with Ratchet in this form.

"I believe we'd be better served to discuss this tomorrow," Ratchet said finally, "When you've had a chance to settle yourself."

"I'd rather get it over with now." Sam slouched back in the seat, glaring with some distaste down at his ruined clothes. Now that he wasn't crying in agony for power, the memory made him cringe. Shit, he'd been begging for Sideswipe to…to do things with him. To him. Tomorrow Ratchet might want to yell at him but Sam would be more than happy to yell back that it was time for them to figure out how to _fix_this.

"Except your wishes are not paramount at the moment," Ratchet said curtly, all traces of humor vanished.

Sam didn't bother to answer, just watched as Autobot city loomed closer, the lights as brilliant as freaking Vegas in the middle of the desert. It looked spectacular, really, and he wondered what it looked like from a distance, wondered if other humans who weren't in the know looked at it and whispered about Area 51 and never knew just how right they really were.

Ratchet didn't talk to him again as they went through the clearance checkpoint and Sideswipe had certainly been right, it was a lot longer this time as they ran full scanning sweeps over them, checking for concealed Decepticons. They never would have been able to make it back in here without being caught but if he'd been a little more careful, they wouldn't have had to break out of a damned jail cell and nearly get killed. Stupid, stupid…

To his surprise, Sam realized that Ratchet wasn't taking him back to his own quarters, heading towards the infirmary instead. Were they going to keep him there overnight, Sam wondered, a little panicky. Maybe they were going to lock him up as a punishment, not that he didn't deserve it, but nervous fear was starting to churn nauseously in his gut.

"What—" Sam started, trailed away as they turned the last corner and he saw Bumblebee, both as a robot and a holo, sitting outside the infirmary.

"Optimus forced him to stay here, as he was in no state to be on the roads," Ratchet informed him tartly, as he slowed to a stop. "I had to threaten to power him down before he finally agreed. I suggest you take this opportunity to talk to him, for once. At the very least you should trust _him_, don't you think?"

The door swung open without another word and Sam climbed out slowly, fully aware of how he looked. Stained and ragged, exhausted and very much like he'd been…well, like he'd been fucking around, wasn't that the truth of it? He'd screwed this up in every way possible and the only excuse he had was that he'd been scared. It seemed far too feeble a way to explain and Sam barely registered it as Ratchet drove away and left the two of them alone.

Bumblebee's holo form was sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of the building with his knees drawn up, his clasped hands dangling between his spread legs. He was curled into himself, shoulders hunched as if to make himself smaller but this was Bumblebee who'd been his best friend before he'd been anything else and maybe Sam had screwed this up beyond all repair but this was Bee and he deserved better.

He didn't look up as Sam walked up to him, his gaze focused on his hands. Silently, Sam sat down next to him, mimicking his posture. For a long moment, they only sat, listening to the distant sounds of Autobot city which never really fell silent, full of beings that didn't need much in the way of nighttime rest.

"Hey," Sam said, softly, finally breaking the silence.

"Hey," Bee said, his eyes still on his hands.

Again, silence. "Can...can I ask you something?"

"Anything." There was a deeper wealth of emotion to that single word that had Sam closing his eyes, taking a long, slow breath before he tugged up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the dark lines of Cybertronian embedded in his skin.

He ran the tip of his finger over his tattoo, the feel of it indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. "What does this mean?" Sam asked, quietly.

A faint smile touched Bee's mouth but he didn't look up. "It's my name."

Sam frowned. "I've tried to read it before. It doesn't say Bumblebee."

"No," Bee agreed. He rubbed his fingers together lightly, absently. "It's my real name."

"Oh," Sam said, a little raggedly. Of course his real name wasn't Bumblebee, Sam had known that for a long time. "How-how do you say it?"

Cybertronian always sounded faintly like static to him but this sounded more sibilant, a word to be rolled off the tongue and savored. Sam attempted to repeat it with little success. The Human larynx just wasn't made for those particular sounds, not like a voice capacitor was.

"I think I better stick with Bumblebee," Sam said with a sad little laugh.

"It's customary for Autobots in a committed relationship to exchange names," Bee said, a little haltingly. "I should have asked your permission before I did so but at the time," he trailed off, shrugging a little. "It's not a true tattoo. I can remove it if you wish."

"No!" Sam burst out. "No, I want it."

"All right," Bee said, still so soft.

Guilt, thick and heavy in his throat and for one, desperate moment, Sam wished Bumblebee would shout at him, lecture him, anything instead of this calm sadness. Like it was already over and nothing Sam said would make a difference, any more than it had when he tried to talk to Optimus.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, because maybe it was too late but he couldn't not apologize, had to at least try.

"Stop," Bee said, holding up a hand and Sam did, eyes stinging. With slow deliberation, Bumblebee reached over and very lightly trailed his fingertips over the back of Sam's hand before gently grasping it and tugging. "Come here?"

Pulled Sam up until he was straddling Bee's lap, Bumblebee's legs against his back, supporting him and when Bee wrapped his arms around Sam, he gave up, gave in, and just buried himself into the comforting embrace, uncaring of who might see them. After tonight, he'd be happy to kiss Bumblebee in the middle of the mess hall so long as he didn't leave and damn, but Sam wouldn't blame him if he did. Ratchet was right, he was so stupid, he'd risked everything and for what? Because he was afraid?

Bumblebee was holding him almost too tight but Sam didn't care, breathing shallowly as Bee clung to him, making shuddery little sounds that were nothing like human.

"You could have been killed," Bee whispered fiercely.

"I'm sorry-" he began, bit his tongue when Bumblebee shook him roughly, fingers digging hard into Sam's upper arms.

"You could have been killed! Or worse, if they hadn't wanted you dead, if they'd captured you instead." Again, he made that shuddery sound, inhuman but not wrong, Bumblebee wasn't human, and Sam didn't care one damned bit.

Sam abruptly realized Bee wasn't shaking, he was _wavering_, briefly less than substantial but before Sam sank more than a couple inches he snapped back into being, firm and solid.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered again, clinging hard, burying his face into Bumblebee's neck.

"You don't need to apologize to me, Sam. Just promise me you'll never do anything so foolish again. Please," he begged, unashamed.

"I promise," Sam said, raggedly, "But I do need to apologize, I fucked up so much."

"No," Bee shook his head. "Not this. Not me."

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand. Tell me."

Tell him. Talk to him like Ratchet had said. Bumblebee had told him he hadn't screwed them up but he didn't know everything and Sam owed him the truth, owed him the chance to know exactly what he was forgiving. "I thought...I thought the receptors were making me feel things aside from horny," Sam started, slowly.

"You were afraid," Bee said, lightly stroking Sam's back. His touch with soothing in more than one way and Sam sighed appreciatively, tension that he hadn't even been aware of ebbing. "And that was not an irrational assumption to make. One that Ratchet could have alleviated if he'd told you before that your receptors were inactive when we began our relationship. Or that you could have if you'd only asked," he added, infinitely more gentle.

"I know, I should have asked. I'm so sorry-"

Bee shushed him. "I told you, no apologies."

"When I broke my arm a few days ago, I didn't fall," Sam swallowed hard. This was harder and he'd promised Sideswipe, but it was Bumblebee's choice, too. "I went- it's hard to explain but I went to see Sideswipe and I accidentally met Sunstreaker instead. He...he didn't mean to, I just-the receptors made me want him and he-"

"He took advantage of the situation as he frequently does," Bee said tersely. His hands still briefly, tightening into fists but they relaxed as Sam's heart stuttered in his chest, resumed their gentle petting.

"It wasn't his fault," Sam admitted, softly. "I was all over him."

"You are a very young human male who is dealing with unprecedented issues in regards to control. He is a slagging piece of tin who is several thousand of your years old and has been tricking organics into sexual relationships for almost as long."

Okay, yes, but Sam still wasn't convinced. "He's not all right in the head."

"He is very close to being not all right in his body as well."

Well, this was going just dandy. He'd already gotten Sideswipe into a shitload of trouble and now he was about to get his brother/lover killed. The memory of Sunstreaker clutching Sideswipe against him was still clear in his mind and maybe their relationship was seriously screwed up, but hell, who was Sam to talk? "He saved your life," Sam pointed out.

"Yours as well. And that is precisely what is saving his."

"You're a lot calmer about this than I expected," Sam said, suspiciously. He pulled back and Bee met his eyes calmly. "You knew," Sam breathed. "You knew and you didn't say anything?"

"I didn't know. But my probability calculations indicted that this was a possible scenario," Bumblebee admitted quietly. "I was waiting for you to tell me. Had I considered you might nearly be killed in trying to avoid that, I would have brought it up myself."

"You knew," Sam repeated, struggling a little and Bee let him go immediately. Only, once he was free Sam wasn't sure he really wanted to move and instead he sat there, his hands limp between them. "You knew about that and then, tonight-"

"Sideswipe already sent me the details about that," Bumblebee said quietly. "Sam, I am hardly going to be upset with either of you for engaging in something that saved your life. Until your receptors accept that there are other ways for them to repower, your choices are somewhat limited in that regard."

"So you're just fine that I've been fooling around with the twins behind your back?" Sam said, and there was no hiding the faint bitterness in his voice because he sure as fuck wasn't all right with it, so he couldn't begin to understand how Bee was.

"Just fine with it?" Bee repeated, eyes suddenly blazing with an inhuman light. "Just fine with it…come on." He was on his feet in an instant, startling Sam as he easily lifted him, carrying him as his other half transformed, doors flying open just in time for Bee to set Sam firmly into the passenger seat. His holo didn't bother to follow, vanishing as soon as the door was shut and they sped away in a squeal of tires. They were going to the outskirts of the city, Sam realized, quickly hitting a speed that no sane human would attempt on this kind of road. Or lack thereof as they hit the hard packed dirt that surrounded the city.

Only Bumblebee wasn't human and Sam wasn't entirely sure he wanted to classify himself as sane tonight. Tomorrow there were bound to be lectures and punishments, and he'd be wallowing in guilt over the twins, and Mikaela who'd at least made it back all right. Tomorrow he could deal with the regrets.

Tonight, Sam whooped with laughter, the radio suddenly blaring to life with loud music as Bumblebee went even faster, taking Sam who the hell knew where and Sam didn't care a damned bit where they went, so long as he was with Bumblebee. Tomorrow they would deal with everything but for tonight he was here.

_I love you so much_, Sam thought, helplessly, and he knew he didn't imagine the faint flicker of response, as sweet and gentle as the softest kiss.

Yeah, he was here tonight and tomorrow could damn well take care of itself.

tbc


	23. Necessary Repairs

Necessary Repairs

By Keelywolfe

* * *

Note: When I started working on this again, it was fully with the intention to finish the series so that it wouldn't be left incomplete. This wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, but hey, I won't complain. If the secondary characters want their time to shine, I can work with that. :)

* * *

Ratchet had never pretended to be an expert on organics, human or otherwise, but if there was one thing he had noted in their short time on Earth, it was that humans and Autobots did have one thing in common when it came to their personal relationships; both species could be incredibly stupid about it.

So while he had no trepidation about leaving Sam with Bumblebee, he did linger close enough to monitor them until he was certain that neither of them was going to indulge in any possibly idiocy. Sam might have gotten his quota in for the day but there was always a chance that Bumblebee would ruin any opportunity Ratchet had to get some rest tonight with a little bonus stupidity.

He didn't listen to their actual conversation, but he did track Sam's physical status, only easing back when his heartbeat resumed its normal cadence. Ratchet took that as a sign that Bumblebee was in a forgiving mood and left them to it, driving off in the direction of his own quarters. It had been some time since he'd been to them and he made yet another reminder to himself to have them moved closer to the infirmary. It was one of the reasons he usually recharged in his office rather than his quarters, since he disliked being so far away from his patients.

An incoming transmission from Optimus caught his attention and Ratchet allowed it, a little surprised. They must not have wasted any time in returning to Autobot City.  
_-Optimus?-_

_-Can you meet me at the infirmary?-_

_-Did they_ fight_ you?_- Ratchet demanded, more shocked than perhaps he should have been. Sunstreaker lashing out wouldn't have unrealistic and in the heat of the moment, it was entirely possible that Sideswipe would have sided with his brother. It wouldn't have been the first time that a spark twin was abruptly dragged along by a sibling's unexpectedly strong emotions before their processors overwrote it with their own.

_-Not at all_-, Optimus replied and Ratchet relaxed before he'd even had time to realize he'd tensed. He was, frankly, exhausted and just the thought of spending hours in surgery repairing damage over such idiocy made his optics ache in sympathetic pain. Ruthlessly, he suppressed it. There was no time for this, not if the Decepticons were capable of sending the sort of virus that had nearly killed Bumblebee over Earth's networks. The entire planet needed new security programming and they needed it quickly, but adapting Cybertronian technology wasn't nearly as difficult as convincing the humans to _use_ it.

Not for the first time, Ratchet was very grateful that the politics were Optimus's arena. He was content to work behind the scenes.

_-I need to speak with you-_, Optimus sent, -_face to face, if you don't mind. -_

It seemed that tonight was a night for surprises. Ratchet had no idea what Prime might wish to talk to him about that couldn't be discussed on a private channel. Now that Jazz was gone, Ironhide was second in command. Ratchet was singularly uninterested in military advancement, particularly since he was only the lead medical officer because he was currently the only medical officer. That was, when he wasn't trying to play counselor to beings who couldn't find their waste disposal units with both hands, he thought sourly.

_-Fine-_, he replied, not bothering to hide his irritation. _-But meet me at my quarters. Sam and Bumblebee are currently at the infirmary and I'd rather not interrupt them.-_

Optimus confirmed and shut down the connection just as Ratchet pulled up to the door of his quarters. He didn't go in, only transformed and stretched out his large frame, groaning a little in relief. Human vehicles were so confining that it felt good to stand, stretching out struts and hydraulics that had to compress tightly to fit in his current alternate form.

He gave his quarters speculative consideration before deciding to remain outside for the moment. There was very little room in his personal quarters for him to even stand fully upright, much less stretch. To a human, they probably seemed expansive but the only way he and Optimus would both fit was if Ratchet sat in his lap, hardly the most dignified of positions, or in their vehicle mode which would defeat his desire to stretch out his joints. Not that he was protesting; Ratchet hadn't had personal quarters since they'd left Cybertron and his infirmary was more than spacious enough at the moment to accommodate his other needs.

Instead, he settled on the ground with a hiss of static as the struts in his feet sent up protests to his main pain processors. Too many hours standing in one position and were he any other mech, he'd be on the receiving end of his own lectures. A quick diagnostic told him there was only superficial damage; a few hours of recharge and his internal systems would recalibrate them. Barring any other emergencies, that was; stupidity obviously transcended species, and Ratchet was in no mood for anything else to happen tonight. He _was_ exhausted, and that was the only reason he'd bothered to come to his own quarters; he'd be less likely to have his recharge interrupted. The way he felt now there could be a full-fledged attack from a fleet of Decepticons and the heat of his anger would probably destroy half of them mid-flight.

He'd barely settled to sit on the ground when Optimus turned the corner, braking gently next to him before he transformed, settling to sit next to Ratchet. He was close enough that their legs brushed slightly and Ratchet drew back, moving enough to give the larger Autobot more room. The slight frown Optimus gave him for it he ignored. Sometimes he suspected Optimus was picking up a few too many human habits; much as he enjoyed the humans, and Sam in particular amused him for all his young foolishness, they were still alien to him. He_ liked_ them, but touching so often outside of a directed pleasurable interface was not an Autobot trait. As far as Ratchet was concerned, all he got out of it was scratched paint that used up too much precious energy in repairs.

Whatever Optimus thought of Ratchet's reticence, he didn't comment, only raised a privacy shield around them, the faint hum of it registering low on Ratchet's auditory scanner.

"How is he?" Optimus asked him finally and Ratchet hardly needed to ask who.

"Physically? He's a little bruised. And exhausted." Ratchet had been very thorough in his scans of Sam while he'd had him. "His systems still aren't fully recovered from the viral attack and they are also adapting to the presence of his receptors, but that's no cause for concern. Mentally? I couldn't begin to conjecture."

Optimus frowned. "You didn't speak to him?"

"Of course I did, have you ever known me to give the silent treatment?" Ratchet said irritably. "Given his state of mine at the time, it seemed best to stick close to his expectations of me. I lectured him for sneaking out of the city and left him with Bumblebee….his receptors are nearly at full charge, which means he engaged in some form of sexual intimacy with either Sideswipe or Sunstreaker. Probably Sideswipe." Since Sideswipe had been helping Bee and Sam before and he highly doubted either of them would allow Sunstreaker any privileges. Not after Sam had come to him with the a broken arm and the smell of both twins all over him. It was a good thing Ratchet had quickly dispersed that scent as he'd treated Sam's arm or any attempts at concealing what had happened would have been useless.

"I can't be certain how Sam is going to react to that intimacy," Ratchet added, studying his own hands. He spread his fingers to their full capacity and inspected each tool carefully. Ironhide and many of the others might be able to carry on with minor injuries until their internal repairs systems took care of them but a medical officer had no such luxury. The difference between a live comrade and a dead one could be depended on all his apparatuses being in perfect condition.

A quick scan confirmed that his tools were in flawless order and Ratchet let them all slide back into their compartments before he gave Prime a narrow look. "So long as I have you still, let me look at that knee joint." No one else would have noticed Optimus had been favoring his left leg the past day and Ratchet would prefer to repair any superficial damage before it became significant enough that the others did notice. Due to constant movement joint damage could quickly become critical and Ratchet doubted he could get Optimus to keep still long enough for his own systems to repair the damage.

"That isn't why I came to speak with you," Optimus reminded him, but he shifted enough for Ratchet to inspect the joint, releasing the armor catches and setting the plates aside so that he could examine the inner workings.

"Then you should have considered that before you asked to see me up close and personal," he retorted. If Optimus wanted to touch, he would at least make that touch useful.

But he knew himself well enough to know when he was trying to avoid answering a question and he also knew Prime would wait patiently until he did. Still, He took the time to clean the grit away from the hydraulics, grimacing at the amount of dirt that had worked its way into the inner gears. No wonder the humans called this planet Earth, the corrosive substance managed to get into everything.

Optimus said nothing, only twitched very slightly when Ratchet brushed against sensitive circuitry. "Sorry," he murmured, but he didn't offer to offline Optimus's pain receptors. Ratchet could see at least two gears were nearly stripped which meant Optimus should have come to see him days ago. Let him suffer a little. He did what he could with his field tools and took a moment to rearrange his schedule for the next day so that Optimus could come in for a full repair. They might not have access to a full medical bay loaded with spare parts but at the very least Ratchet could configure essential gears and cabling.

"I suspect there will be some repercussions," Ratchet admitted at last, settling the armoring back into place. "Humans are very selective about their mating practices. I'm hoping Bumblebee will soothe some of his concerns."

"I'm sure he will," Optimus said. "He cares for Sam a great deal."

"I know," Ratchet murmured and if Optimus either heard or sensed his concern about that, he didn't indicate it. Ratchet decided he had had quite enough of this topic for the day. What would happen, would happen; those two had been foremost in his processors for long enough. He really was not a counselor. "Where are the twins?"

"With Ironhide in the large hanger. We don't have anything in the way of solitary confinement at the moment."

No, they didn't. With so few of them on Earth, a detention block had seemed ridiculous. Decepticons were destroyed, not taken prisoner. Let them plead defense of their actions to Primus.

Speaking of defenses, "Did either of them offer an explanation for their actions?"

"Not that they provided. Sideswipe only agreed with everything I accused and Sunstreaker said nothing at all."

There was a surprise. There were times that Ratchet had wished, fervently, that Sunstreaker had been the one to have his vocal processors ripped away. He might have taken his time repairing them. "_Sunstreaker_ didn't say anything?"

"Not a sound or even a text file," Optimus confirmed. He seemed equally troubled by Sunstreaker's silence. "I'll speak to them again tomorrow to discuss punishment."

"Yes, I said much the same to Sam."

Optimus made a low rumbling sound of agreement, stretching out his leg to test the joint. The stripped gears would still ache in his pain processors but at least the irritating filth was cleaned away. Ratchet was going to have to, again, remind his fellow Autobots that they needed to clean out the dirt and grit daily, at least with a hard spray of water if not a full sterilization.

Optimus seemed satisfied with the basic repair, settling back before he said, softly, "You are aware that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are engaging in physical intimacy again?"

"What?" Ratchet couldn't suppress his shock. "No, I wasn't. You're sure?"

"Oh, yes," Optimus said, heavily. "The signs were unmistakable."

"I thought Sideswipe had abandoned attempts at any sort of real relationship with his spark twin some ages ago," Ratchet said crossly. "I had no idea he was that masochistic." He'd noticed the unusual resonance in their spark signature when he'd been treating Sunstreaker for his injuries but he'd taken it as simple distress. They were meant to resonate with each other to some degree which was precisely why Spark twins could be difficult to treat. When he'd gone through Sunstreaker's databanks after bypassing his firewall, he'd only been looking for signs illicit data transfer, nothing personal. Bludgeoning his way through someone else's memory was unpleasant enough without getting a secondhand dose of their experiences.

"Were it anyone else, I doubt he would be," Optimus said quietly. There was a great deal of unspoken truth to that; Optimus would know more about reactions between spark twins than Ratchet. There were something things that couldn't be properly explained in simple words or even data transfer.

Well, let Sideswipe commit his own emotional suicide. Ratchet would be there to patch of the inevitable physical results when they came. "Have you decided on their punishment yet?"

"Of course. Two weeks of double duty, apart from each other. I believe I'll assign Sunstreaker to Ironhide. Considering the damage he did to the sensor arrays, it will take him the entire time to repair them."

"I thought you were punishing the twins. What did Ironhide do to deserve another two weeks of Sunstreaker?" Ratchet said dryly. "And Sideswipe?"

"Perhaps I'll assign him to guard Ron Witwicky and give him the opportunity to explain to the man why he nearly got his son killed." More scathing than Prime would have allowed any of the others to hear him.

Ratchet would never express his disapproval about a reprimand verbally, not to his Prime, but his expression spoke for him. "I believe he only thought he was assisting Sam and Mikaela in a little youthful mischief," he said, lightly. "This level of trouble was not his intention."

The tone of the report he'd left explaining that the two of them were with him off-base certainly seemed to indicate that. Bumblebee had still wanted to chase them down but it would have been pointless without some directional indicator and by the time they'd been ready to ask Sunstreaker to track down his twin for them, he had disappeared as well. It was only when the police scanner had lit up with reports of shots fired in a small town nearby that they had been able to mobilize.

"The humans have a saying about good intentions paving the way to their hell," Optimus said sourly, but he relented. "I will see to his punishment myself."

Ratchet wasn't certain that was much of an improvement. He knew personally that Optimus's disappointment could be worse than any physical punishment, particularly since he'd felt it quite keenly just a few days ago himself. Prime hadn't outright accused Ratchet of lying about Sam's injury; he hadn't needed to. Unlike the others, however, Ratchet wasn't one to bend under the weight of Optimus expectations. If he wanted the truth about that, he'd have to get it from Sam himself because Ratchet wasn't about to betray what little confidence the boy had given him. As medical officer, he was oath bound to respect his patients privacy unless it would cause critical danger to themselves or others and no amount Optimus's disapproval would make him break that vow.

"Are you adding to the reprimand Sunstreaker already had for unauthorized firewall usage?" Despite Ratchet's deep scans into Sunstreaker's databanks (and Sunstreaker's subsequent tantrum over it), he hadn't discovered any real reason for him to be hiding behind that complicated of a firewall. He suspected that Sunstreaker simply hated allowing anyone that kind of control over him, even a medical officer. If it hadn't been both a security and medical requirement, Ratchet would have been happy to allow it. It wasn't like he particularly wanted to prod through Sunstreaker's thoughts. He could be unpleasant enough simply with his vocal processors.

"Sunstreaker disobeyed orders by leaving base without permission, disabled several high functioning security sensors to do so, and broke the limitations imposed on him by his last transgression and in doing so, he also saved Sam's and possibly Sideswipe's lives. I'm inclined to be forgiving for this incident. When they are off-duty they will be confined to their quarters."

"Together?" Ratchet said, surprised.

"They are being punished, not tortured. Two weeks apart while they are still adjusting to resuming intimacy would be excessively cruel."

True enough, blast and damn Sideswipe for giving in to Sunstreaker again, anyway. That was the only possibility that seemed remotely likely, their past interactions making it highly unlikely that Sideswipe had initiated anything. Ratchet ran a quick probability calculation and was unsurprised when it indicated that his request for Sideswipe to assist Sam and Bumblebee had likely been the catalyst for their renewed intimacy. How very appropriate that the cause could be laid right back at Ratchet's feet. It was only what he deserved for getting involved in _that_ to begin with. Repairs, he reminded himself. There was a reason he stuck with repairs.

"Sam should be fine with Bumblebee tonight," Ratchet decided. "I think both of them could use a little time together. After the emotional strain of tonight, he can wait to hear about any further reprimand."

Not that Sam was theirs to reprimand or command but Ratchet suspected he would accept any punishment as his due. He wasn't a soldier but he had a strong sense of honor. His reaction to the twins being disciplined because of him was both remarkable and amusing, as far as Ratchet was concerned.

Bumblebee had been distraught when the reports had come in, even more than Ratchet would have expected, and furious that they would leave him behind. That was a possible concern right there. Receptors aside, Bee had bonded to the boy much deeper than Ratchet would have thought possible in such a short amount of time.

This was quickly becoming a first-rate headache and not for the first time Ratchet wished he'd just told Bumblebee to leave the boy alone. He could have made it an order and Bumblebee could have sulked about it and moved on, and the entirety of this could have been completely avoid. Ratchet wasn't going to indulge in his own sulking about that, though; if wishes were paramount to Primus, there never would have been a war.

"I'll speak to Sam again in the morning," Ratchet said, considering what punishment would be suitable for a young human. Unpleasant without being unreasonable and he needed to discuss Mikaela's due reprimand with Prowl-

"No, you will not."

That caught Ratchet off-guard. "You're the one who wanted me to deal with him," Ratchet pointed out. "Something about him forming a parent-like attachment to me due to the traumas of the past few weeks." That was another unexpected development but not one Ratchet could deny. After all, it wasn't Optimus that Sam went to with his problems.

"I did," Optimus agreed. "And I do. However, you will be in recharge tomorrow morning and I don't expect you to resume your duties until the afternoon." His tone brooked no argument.

Outraged, Ratchet glared at his commander, ignoring the fact that he'd come to his quarters for just that reason. "I am perfectly capable of deciding when I need to recharge—"

"You haven't recharged in two days," Optimus said, unruffled by Ratchet's temper. "You've been assisting the humans, modifying fuel capacitors that will allow us to convert solar energy more efficiently into energon, dealing with Sam and Bumblebee, as well as Sunstreaker, running routine repairs and maintenance…did I leave anything out?"

He had, but Ratchet wasn't about to provide him with his full schedule. "How many hours of recharge have you gotten, _Sir_?" Ratchet snapped out.

"More than you." He didn't offer any hard data, which told Ratchet it wasn't _much_ more. "I can make it an order, if that would be preferable. As your commanding officer, since apparently I'm not allowed to coax you as a lover."

The implication of that statement startled Ratchet out of what had been growing into a full on outburst. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Since we aren't involved in an ongoing relationship. Those were your words," Optimus reminded him.

Ratchet looked at him in disbelief. "You cannot possibly be upset about that."

"No?" There was the lightest of touches against his hand, Optimus's much larger hand easily circling his wrist before stroking down close to his fingertips where the sensors were at their most sensitive.

For a long moment, Ratchet was too shocked say a word. This was very unexpected. He and Optimus had been casually intimate for some short amount of time, what little time they even had. Ratchet had always considered it more of a convenience than an actual bond. Optimus's sparkmate Elita had been dead for some time even in their terms and when the temptation and opportunity had been there, Ratchet had taken in and why not? Optimus was attractive, they were both alone.

_::Alone, so alone, alone Wheeljack::_

Ratchet ruthlessly repressed that subconscious little trill in his processors. He'd given in to the urge to couple with Optimus during a moment of grieving temptation but there had been no reason not to, if for the stress relief alone.

First Sam and Bumblebee, then Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and now this? Was there something in the atmosphere of this planet that caused being to crave pair bondings? What next, would Ironhide be courting Lennox?

Uncharacteristically hesitant in choosing his words, this time Ratchet didn't withdraw from the light touch. "Optimus, I'm bonded to Wheeljack."

As though either of them needed a reminder.

"And yet, you told me yourself that you had given up on him being alive." No accusation, only that same, gentle tone, coupled with his stroking touch along delicate sensors. It wasn't precisely pleasurable but the faint tingle it gave him deep in his receptors made him long for something he couldn't express.

No.

They didn't have time for this, not now.

"Could we stay on the subject at hand?" Ratchet said, a little impatiently.

"Of course." Optimus withdrew his hand and Ratchet relaxed, just a little. "We were discussing your need to recharge."

"Are you making it an order?" Ratchet asked warily, eying his Prime. But Optimus seemed neither upset nor even particularly concerned. As ever, he exuded only a calm that Ratchet envied on rare occasions, a deep personal reserve of strength and whether that was innate or a result of his leadership matrix was something Ratchet had never been able to discern.

"Do I need to?" Optimus countered.

"No," Ratchet grumbled and once again, reordered his schedule. He did make Optimus's knee joint replacement paramount on his list for tomorrow. Let Sam stew a little longer in his own guilt. Without waiting for a response, Ratchet lifted the large door of his quarters and crawled inside. Standing back up on his aching struts didn't seem worth the preservation of dignity at this point.

Settling in comfortably, Ratchet turned back to regard Optimus, who was still sitting just outside the door and with more hesitance than he would have normally felt, Ratchet asked, "Are you coming?"

"If I do, I doubt you'll get very much time to recharge." He must be in a better mood if he was willing to flirt.

"Your choice."

The door closing seemed to be his final response and Ratchet shrugged it off, powering off his optics as he ran through a basic pre-recharge diagnostic

_Rest well_, so very softly, only a faintest brush of connection that Ratchet might have ignored if not for the tenderness obvious in it.

_Take your own advice_, he shot back, and it was to the sound of Optimus's soft laughter that he slipped fully into recharge, too tired for even his subconscious processors to trouble him with flashes of memory. Instead, they joined him in deep recharge and let the world outside his darkened quarters go on without him, for just a little while.

tbc


	24. 4x4

4x4  
By Keelywolfe

* * *

1. Sam and Bee

They'd never done this, not quite like this. Not outside and seriously not right on top of Bumblebee's car form. It brought back a faint memory, lying on the hood with Mikaela and Bumblebee silent beneath them, watching, and what Bee had been feeling then Sam had no idea but then Sam had been clothed and now…not so much.

Tearing through the desert at top speed, music blaring from the speakers had seemed more like foreplay than anything else and when Bee had finally stopped, Sam had already been waiting for it. His holo form had appeared so quickly that he'd been nearly a blur as he yanked Sam out of the abruptly opened door and Bumblebee was surprisingly adept at taking off clothes, considering that he didn't have do it himself.

The hood beneath his hands was still blazing warmth, Bee's engine ticking as it cooled, as Sam clawed at the smooth metal helplessly. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to hold him down, his toes barely on the ground as he sprawled over the hood. It felt like he'd been doing this a lot lately, with everyone but the one he really wanted. Until now and the feel of Bumblebee's fingers sliding into him shocking a breathless little scream out of him, loud in the silent night desert around them.

"You want me?" Bumblebee whispered fiercely and Sam nodded frantically, the dampness of the sweat on his face made his cheek squeak against the metal. The harsh thrust of Bee's fingers inside him pulled a yelp out of him even as he lurched back against them, trying to get them deeper, to get more. Fucking himself on Bee's fingers and begging him wordlessly for more. The smell of his own sex and sweat, of the raw, hot need of it, and Sam spread his legs wider, hot metal beneath him and hot flesh against him.

"Beautiful," Bumblebee groaned and the abrupt withdrawal of his fingers made Sam snarl, would have made him turn and demand Bee give him more if Bee hadn't dropped to his knees and there was a slick, nimble tongue against him, slim hands on his hips as Bee held him open and kissing him there, so wet against him.

There was no air left in his lungs to scream, Sam writhing weakly against Bumblebee's hood, mouthing the smoothness and tasting dust and something else, something visceral, Bumblebee.

Felt Bumblebee inhale sharply against him, his mouth suddenly vicious as he pressed his tongue in hard, licking his way inside with a wet little sound before he abruptly withdrew. There was a near danger of Sam sliding right off the hood into a heap on the ground, or there would have been if Bee hadn't grabbed Sam's hips, hard, one of his feet between Sam's kicking them sharply farther apart and he knew what was coming, knew but still couldn't brace himself for it, the first push against him making him suck in a breath, let it out in a yell.

"That's it." Hotly against his ear, the nasty-wet swipe of tongue licking into it. "That's it, take it, Sam, you can take me."

Hard thrust into him, Bumblebee _yanking_ him back into it, again, again, and Sam screamed until his voice cracked, and all he could do was claw at the hood beneath him, his nails scraping useless at alien metal that he couldn't even scratch. Nothing but the feel of Bumblebee inside him, the hoarseness of his own voice, desperate and pained and he didn't even think to reach for a connection, didn't need anything but this.

Sweet, high noises echoed into his ear and dimly he recognized it was Bumblebee, the hoarseness in his voice having less to do with sex than injury but to Sam he sounded as pretty as he looked, could imagine the tightness to his face, that lovely little oh-god-gonna-come expression and Sam didn't have a sound left in him when orgasm poured through him, a sudden hot rush of pleasure. He threw his head back in a silent cry, felt Bumblebee just barely sink his teeth into the newly exposed skin even as he shuddered through his own climax, the stinging in his neck soothed by suddenly gentle kisses.

"Sam," Bumblebee groaned roughly and Sam just barely made a noise that might qualify as acknowledgement. Christ, Bumblebee was going to kill him like this one of these days. He was surprisingly heavy for a holographic projection, flopped across Sam's back like he was planning on moving in and it was only when Sam squirmed, a little soreness making itself known, that he managed to pull away and then only far enough to sprawl on his back next to Sam.

A little shakily, Sam pushed up to his feet, leaning heavily against Bumblebee as he studied the hood. His come was streaking the bright yellow finish in glossy ribbons and Sam was damned if he was going to sacrifice his nice shirt for Bee's paint job.

"Feel better?" Sam asked, wincing a little at his own hoarseness. Hell, every Autobot in the city had probably heard him howling out here like a coyote. Ratchet had probably recorded it and added it to whatever creepy files he was keeping on human sexual practices, the old pervert.

One green eye slitted open to look at him. "If I say no, will you let me do it again?"

"Bee—" Sam started, yelping as Bumblebee sat up quicker than Sam could blink and yanked him back down, rolling him over into the wet spot, _ew_. A car hood shouldn't even have a wet spot, he manage to think and then thinking went the way of the dinosaurs, nothing but the sound of skin on skin and against sleek metal.

Not nearly as far away as Sam would have prefered, all the Autobots in the city who weren't currently in recharge once again lowered their audio sensors in resignation and Ironhide made a note to himself to talk to Bee, again, about putting up some form of silencing barrier when they did their human sex things. Not everyone had a scientific curiosity about all that weird organic stuff.

* * *

  
2. Mikaela and Prowl

Mikaela curled up on her bed, holding a pillow tightly against her belly. She was still fully dressed, the lights still blazing overhead as she waited for Prowl to come back or at least send her a text message to let her know just what the hell was going on.

It hadn't taken her too long to figure out what had happened. News that the cops had picked up someone outside had spread through the bar quickly, even to the people on the dance floor, and finding Sideswipe gone had been a pretty big clue as to who.

What the hell had Sam been doing outside anyway, that's what she wanted to ask him. Or rather, what had he been doing that had been enough to get arrested. She chewed on a fingernail, a hundred possibilities flittering through her thoughts and none of them seemed reasonable. He was supposed to be dancing, flirting a little. Having a little fun after an epically weird month of trying to get himself killed.

Even if she had believed that Sam would have taken someone out back for a quickie, the very idea that he'd have taken someone back to make out in Sideswipe…just, no. Not a chance.

Personally, she figured Sam was having a belated wigging-out over a having a few of his preconceived notions about his sexuality take a sharp left turn. She only wished she'd been as surprised as he had. They'd had fun, they really had, but anyone who had eyes could see it was Bumblebee who drew him, eyes and body and heart. Even just as a robot, Sam had looked at Bee in a way he had never looked at her. Sam had looked at her and seen hotness and sex, Bumblebee…she wasn't sure she could quite describe what she'd seen in his eyes when he looked at Bee but it was nothing as simple as just sex.

She sighed and buried her face into her pillow. When Bumblebee had asked her to help him form a human avatar, she'd been happy to help out. She _liked_ Bumblebee, it was hard not to like him, but maybe he was just as oblivious as Sam because the minute she'd realized that his hologram was more than just light, she'd…known. She'd known exactly what was going to happen when the right opportunity hit and it seemed stupid to be too upset when it had. Sam had cared about her, that was obvious, but she should have known exactly where she stood in comparison to Bumblebee the very first time Sam had yelled at her for insulting his piece of crap Camaro, should have let him down gently before she'd forced him to do it himself-

There was a soft sound of the door opening, interrupting her thoughts, and Mikaela looked up to see Prowl standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I believe I am ready to speak to you now," Prowl said, low and calm.

When she'd finally given in and texted him, the reply had been a very brief, curt message for her to remain where she was. He hadn't said a word when he pulled up to the club and the gossip line had probably exploded when she hopped into the front seat. Two cops stealing away with people in one night? That little town probably hadn't seen that much excitement since last fourth of July.

The drive back had been in complete silence, even her timid questions about Sam had been ignored. Then again, Prowl had ignored her quiet, "Well, then fuck you," too, so there was that. It wasn't until they pulled up in front of her quarters that Prowl had told her, curtly, that there had been a Decepticon attack on Sam and Sideswipe while they were in jail, and then she'd been too frightened for them to protest at all when he sent her inside and drove off.

Since then all she'd gotten was a quick text message from Bumblebee letting her know that no one was hurt.

"Ready to yell at me?" Mikaela asked sardonically as she sat up but then she frowned, getting a better look at him. Slowly, a little surprised, she said, "You changed."

He had. There was less of a linebacker look to his holo; still tall but now he was leaner and lithe, and Mikaela couldn't help but notice that it suited him. She'd helped make his last holoform, just like she'd helped Bumblebee, only this one she'd made to her tastes, not Sam's. Bumblebee was hot, sure, but he was undeniably guy-pretty. Prowl she had made hard and muscled, the tall, strong football-type that she was always happy to drool over and it had been pretty effective. She'd sure as hell enjoyed it the past few nights, even if had been a while. She and Sam had never gotten as far as actual sex which should have been a clue right there, if she hadn't already noticed the totally obvious.

Prowl shrugged, patting himself lightly as if he was checking out his own specs. He'd kept the dark hair and eyes, the basic facial structure. Add a uniform and she could see him looking like a young cop. Just the plain dark shirt and jeans he was wearing had a nice enough effect. "This feels more comfortable."

Okay, there was a little Autobot weirdness. "How does that work?" Mikaela asked, baffled. Maybe putting on the wrong holo form was like wearing pants that were too small. A figurative robotic wedgie. But she could see the difference. His holo before had been good but this one was much better, more relaxed and real.

"I'm not sure I can explain it," Prowl said, softly. He looked at her steadily. "You left base with Sam."

No accusations, just a statement of fact. "Yeah."

"And without me."

"Yeah, I did," she said, a little defiantly.

"You're not going to do it again." Prowl stated it like it was fact. No yelling, no threatening, just a simple statement. A fucking order was what it was and it made something inside Mikaela bristle and tighten. She wasn't particularly fond of cops, even alien ones, and she didn't like orders from _anyone_, especially if she was sleeping with them.

"You think because I let you play human with me that you can tell me what to do?" she snapped.

Prowl didn't so much as blink, no flicker of emotion but that same damnable calm. "No, I think that I am the one who is charged with protecting your life and not even you are going to prevent me from doing it."

"Whatever. I think you're giving yourself too much credit. It's not like I'm trying to die."

"Not trying doesn't seem to be hindering your attempt," Prowl said, his voice bone-dry. "If you had been in that cell with Sam and Sideswipe, you would be dead."

"You don't know that." But uneasy fear stirred in her as she thought about it. She'd seen firsthand exactly what kind of damage Decepticons were capable of, remembered Sam's tight voice when he'd told her what Barricade had tried to do to him.

"On the contrary, I do. Sideswipe's instinct was to protect Sam and he could not have saved you both." Prowl finally stepped closer and Mikaela couldn't help but flinch as he loomed, one arm on either side of her as he leaned in close, his face inches from her. "Barricade would have murdered you in cold blood as he has done to many, many others and I would have been miles away and helpless to stop him."

"I get it, okay! It's your duty to protect me," she leaned back, trying to put some distance between them. He didn't even act like he was mad, just staring at her so close, this was so _stupid_. "It doesn't even matter. They aren't after me."

"I think _you_ aren't giving yourself enough credit," Prowl said evenly. "You did your part in their defeat and the Decepticons are unlikely to forget it. And whether or not you play human with me, as you say, this is not going to happen again. We brought the two of you here to keep you safe."

"Fine," she muttered, slouching back against the wall. Prowl pulled away enough to stand upright, looking down at her speculatively.

"It's all right for you to be upset, you know."

Startled, Mikaela looked up at him. Was she supposed to be grateful that she was allowed to be pissed off at him? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"At Sam," Prowl clarified. "I've seen the way you act with him and I've heard your heartbeat when you do. The two are not within the correct parameters." Prowl tilted his head a little, studying her while she tried to figure out what the hell all that meant. "You are angry with him and perhaps you should be."

"I am not angry at Sam! He's my friend and he's hurting, and I'm trying to help him!"

Prowl was shaking his head already and Mikaela's hands itched for something to throw into that controlled face. "He is, this is true. He's had a difficult time. He also abandoned you for someone else and didn't even have the grace to tell you to your face. In fact, he probably cheated on you, isn't that right?"

She bristled instantly, where the hell was this even coming from? The evening had already been a disaster, she wasn't in the mood for a psychoanalysis from her freaking bodyguard. "It's not like that," she snapped.

"What is it like, then? He had sex with Bumblebee while still committed to you, didn't he?"

"He didn't—"

"Didn't he?" Prowl said, relentless, his calm steady and strong as he stared down at her dispassionately. "Even if he didn't, he barely let the dust settle before he moved on."

She threw something at Prowl before she even thought about it, the pillow from her bed, and he didn't flinch or duck, allowed her to hit him.

"Yes," he said softly. "Go ahead."

And she did, the hot snap of her temper flaring and she threw everything in her reach at him, books, a bottle of lotion, her alarm clock flew at him with the cord trailing behind it. Her cell phone missed, shattering on the wall behind him and finally her little end table was empty and all she could do was collapsed to the floor, covering her face with both hands, not crying but so, so angry, her face stinging hot with it, hating them all. Sam for abandoning her just like everyone else she'd ever cared about, Bumblebee for stealing him away and Prowl for being _right_, fucking bastard-

She wrapped her arms around herself and the first hot tears squeezed out from her tightly shut eyes as she choked out a sob, the horrible, unlovely tears of real pain and when Prowl knelt next to her, she let him pull her into his arms even if this was all his fault and she hated him.

Prowl rocked her as gently as if she was a child, his chin resting lightly on her head. His breath stirred her hair as he spoke, softly, "I understand you concealing your anger from Sam, but you don't have to hide or pretend with me, Mikaela. You cannot shock me and you cannot hurt me. Not like this."

Still sniffling, Mikaela wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She didn't look at Prowl, kept her head lowered and her eyes shut.

"And you are correct, it is my duty to protect you. But it isn't loss of duty that would hurt me if you died," And finally there was a ragged edge of emotion to his voice. "I've lost enough."

Jazz. God, she'd almost forgotten that he'd just lost Jazz and what would it have done to him if she'd gotten herself killed. That first night, she'd seen his calm crack sharply, he'd been so lonely, so hurt.

"I'm sorry—"

"No," he shook her very lightly. "Don't apologize to me for that. You don't owe me anything, Mikaela, not a thing. All I want is for you to just let me protect you. Can you at least let me have that much?"

She didn't really nod, more like rubbed her head into the comforting warmth of his chest, but she could talk, thickly and did. "Okay. I won't leave the city without you again."

Prowl's sigh was almost silent and when she tipped her head up, he obeyed her unspoken request, gently pressing his lips to hers in an unspoken promise.

* * *

3. Ratchet and Optimus

Ratchet had never been particularly fond of fuel capacitors, beyond his own use of them. They simply performed a necessary function, just as their optics and their audio sensors did. In the past few days however, he had gained a very fine hatred of them. Their delicacy and their unfortunate tendency to violently explode when the proper care wasn't taken with them meant that Ratchet was the only one capable of handling them at the moment. A human might have the steady hands required but not the ability to survive the blast if they made an error and Ratchet didn't even want to consider allowing any of the other 'bots to try.

The only one of them who might have the necessary precision was Bumblebee and he had enough to do. That left Ratchet and an endless supply of fuel capacitors to convert for solar energy. Energon would have been better, _infinitely_ better, but their supplies were short and until they had a better refinery, solar energy would have to do. He didn't even want to consider using any of the humans fuel supplies beyond basic electricity, filthy carbon-based garbage that was as inefficient as it was disgusting. He'd rather convert a thousand capacitors than touch that.

He heard the sound of a door opening just as he began to weld the tiny struts into place, cursed himself for forgetting to lock it. At the rate he was being interrupted, he would still be working on this one capacitor until the return of Primus, never mind that it was his own fault that he'd had to rebuild it in the first place.

The first tiny strut was secured and Ratchet took a moment to glance up, and saw Optimus, always graceful despite his large size as he moved silently around the infirmary, studying the neatly arranges supplies and tools. Automatically, Ratchet straightened and began to lay his tools aside, even as he checked his internal chronometer for accuracy. It was fine which meant Optimus was here far earlier than Ratchet had scheduled.

Optimus waved off his unspoken question absently. "Don't stop on my account."

"You're early for your knee replacement," Ratchet said, warily returning to his work.

"You're supposed to still be in recharge." Optimus countered.

Ratchet only grunted at that, flicking on the laser welder again. Each capacitor had ten struts, tiny fragments that were only the size of a human fingernail and each needed to be welded in exactly the proper spot for the correct level of support. With a delicacy of touch that was essential for his work, Ratchet started on the second. "I need to finish this."

"Then don't let me stop you."

Ratchet didn't look up again, but his peripheral sensors indicated that Optimus had continued his silent inspection, checking over the human and Autobot supplies, respectively.

"Did you need something?" Ratchet asked finally, glancing up as he finished the second strut. Perhaps if Optimus was looking for something, Ratchet could tell him where it was and then he could leave. Optimus seemed satisfied with whatever he had seen and instead settled his bulk on the floor, just behind where Ratchet was working. Leaning against the wall with his legs drawn up in a posture that humans and 'bots alike seemed to favor.

"No." A quiet, simple denial.

That stumped him. Barring a medical emergency, Optimus was the only one of them that he couldn't directly order out of the infirmary. He could _ask_ him to leave but that seemed churlish, given their conversation the night before and it wasn't as if Optimus was in the way or even trying to distract him. He was just…there. Settling in for all the world as if he was just going to sit and watch Ratchet weld.

Ratchet huffed a little but went back to it. Two struts down, eight to go.

"I like to watch you work," Optimus said softly.

"Then watch silently," Ratchet muttered, focusing on his work. He felt as though Optimus was laughing at him, somehow, but he took Ratchet at his word and didn't make a sound.

It was difficult to get back into the rhythm of it, knowing that optics were on him, and twice he started to set the plasma welder down and ask Optimus if there wasn't something useful he could be doing. Twice, he almost did it and twice he resisted.

After a while, his attention focused and he nearly forgot Optimus was there. Such delicate work required pinpoint accuracy and complete concentration and Ratchet turned all his sensors toward it, determined to finish this today. If he had to look at this particular capacitor again, Ratchet thought he might devolve into gibbering insanity that no amount of recharge would help.

There. The last strut was welded perfectly into place and now all this capacitor needed was a little time to let the components set. Ratchet sighed a little in relief and just as he was turning off the welder, two large hands settled unexpectedly on his shoulders. Without his peripheral sensors to warn him, it startled him so much that he squealed like a sparkling, accidentally flipping the switch to the highest setting. With a groan of rending metal and a shower of sparks, the table fell away into two sections and a large scorch mark formed on the floor beneath it.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence as Ratchet stared disbelieving at the damage. Almost absently, he flicked the laser welder off, but he still held on to it since the table he would have set it on was neatly dissected on his floor. The hands that had caused this problem to begin with were still on his shoulders and they started to shake lightly, the body standing so close to his own wracked with tremors until finally Optimus burst out laughing. Loudly. As Ratchet hadn't heard him laugh since…perhaps he had never heard Optimus laugh quite like this.

"What…" Ratchet sputtered, still staring at the smoking wreckage of his worktable and he finally spun around to face Optimus, shaking those guilty hands away from him. "What is wrong with you! You…this….you!"

He was angry past the point of speech, crouching down to salvaged the fuel capacitor. Again. It was with relief beyond measure that he found it happily undamaged by the catastrophe and it was that and that alone that kept him from hurling the thing directly at Optimus's head.

Slowly, Optimus slowed into chuckles, "I'm sorry, Ratchet, I…no, wait…" Another burst of laughter, and Ratchet's glare heated as Optimus was forced to lean against the wall to remain upright. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice mod a little gaspy. "I didn't mean to startle you. But the way you screamed…oh…"

His laughter was degenerating into the clicks and whirrs of a protoform, the Autobot equivalent of gasping for breath. Ratchet only watched him with pinpoints of red glaring from his optics, not cracking so much as a smile.

"I could have cut my hand off, you know," Ratchet informed him waspishly. "And would have had to reset it myself since I doubt any of you could do it." By this point, Prime was kneeling on the floor, all but keening with amusement and Ratchet surrendered, taking the rescued fuel capacitor to a safer part of the infirmary.

It was no use. Optimus only followed him, nearly staggering at first but slowly his laughter eased, though Ratchet could still see the amusement lingering. "I am sorry, Ratchet."

He reached up, fingertips close to Ratchet's face just before the medic flinched away. Something in his optics softened, sobered as he withdrew. "You really do dislike being touched, don't you."

"I do not," Ratchet snarled. He stormed over to kicked lightly at the ruined table, calculating what he would need to fix it. He had liked that table, damn it, he'd just managed to get it to the perfect height. "I just don't see the point of it! I am not an organic."

"Neither is Bumblebee," Optimus said with deceptive lightness. "Or Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Or Prowl. Or even Ironhide who enjoys spending time with the Lennoxes. We've been around organics before," Optimus reminded him, "some of us have learned to appreciate their ways."

"Fine, then, have it your way. I'm the strange one who hates to be touched," Ratchet said coolly. He started to kneel, intent on inspecting the damage more closely and froze instead, stiffening as Optimus came up behind him to murmur very close to his auditory sensor.

"That is far from what I said."

Ratchet closed his optics and very carefully did not move. Enough of this, it was a distraction that he did _not_ need. "Why are you doing this? Why now?" he asked bluntly.

To his credit, Prime didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Jazz."

That was unexpected. Ratchet turned enough to look at Optimus who was regarding him gravely. Very close, yes, but respectfully not touching. "Jazz?" Ratchet prompted, quietly.

"I have always been very aware of mortality," Optimus said, softly. "You know this. But losing Jazz…it hurts." He finished, simply, and when he reached out hesitantly, Ratchet allowed the very human embrace. Just this once, he told himself, shivering a little as Optimus's fingers stroked along his back, sliding into the gaps in his armor and against sensitive sensor arrays.

"Then seeing Bumblebee and Sam," Optimus's voice was a deep rumble, close enough for Ratchet to feel the reverberation of it. "Humans do not have a lifespan that allows them the luxury of waiting and perhaps neither do we. So I decided I should ask for what I want."

"And what is that?" Ratchet forced himself to ask, not entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer.

"You." Simply. "I want to be with you, as a partner, as whatever you will allow. If Wheeljack returns I will join you in rejoicing and I _will_ let you go, but for now, I want whatever I can have." A moment's pause, those stroking fingers hesitating before they slipped up to Ratchet's face and gently tipped his head up, forcing him to reluctantly meet Optimus's optics. "I dislike watching you hurting as you wait."

"And that's what you want," Ratchet said, trying to interject his normal harshness into his voice mod. And failed, surely failed. He settled for distance, pulling away from the embrace and Optimus let him go instantly, though his hands lingered briefly, fingers too gentle to dent or even scratch paint.

Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest, felt the need to pull into himself just a little. "And what about what I want?"

The smile that lit Optimus's face was rueful at best. "I suspect that you will make the decision for both of us. But not now," Optimus straightened, sobered, "Just consider it."

He seemed to be waiting for some response and Ratchet finally muttered, "All right."

Just at this moment, Ratchet didn't want to consider it at all, gathering up all the relevant data and stuffing it to the back of his processors to examine later. Right now, all he wanted to do was fix his damned table. He crouched again, considering the damage and when he felt Optimus lean in again, close to his auditory sensor, he only sighed in exasperation.

Very close to his auditory receptor, Optimus murmured. "My appointment isn't for another hour. Just once, would you let me try to show you how good a simple touch can feel?"

"No," Ratchet snapped. He felt petty for it immediately but continued doggedly, "It would seem I need to spend the rest of my free time repairing a table."

His clear disappointment was so keen that Ratchet sighed, again. He was entirely too old for this kind of ridiculousness. "Perhaps another time," he grated out, grudgingly, and he did not feel a flare of warmth at Optimus's obvious pleasure.

He really didn't.

* * *

4. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker

Sideswipe had known that none of this was going to end well. From the moment Mikaela had approached him, he'd known that this little expedition was going to end in trouble and work detail. He'd gone along with it, anyway, and why not? Going out dancing was essentially harmless and he wasn't adverse to a little mischief on both sides of the equation, both in sneaking out and not revealing to his charges that he fully intended to get caught.

If he'd been able to calculate just exactly how much trouble this one little illicit adventure was going to be, he definitely would have reconsidered. Maybe there was a glitch in his logic circuit.

The memory of Optimus's anger was one he would have been relieved to lock away in his processors with a select few others, but he knew better than to try. With the way his luck was going, if Ratchet found out he'd done that, he'd flag the file to replay every time Sideswipe was in recharge.

Optimus had been purely furious in a way Sideswipe had never had directed at him. Endangering Sam and Mikaela's life had only been the tip of that iceberg. The officers at the sheriff's department had been injured, though thankfully not severely, the building itself had been nearly demolished by Barricade's attack and by Sunstreaker's subsequent rescue. Sam's general location was now available to any Deception who could crack through the local police files, which was all of them that where currently on Earth. Add in the trouble the Government would have to go through to conceal the entire incident and Sideswipe had almost expected Optimus to disassemble him right on the highway. Not that Sideswipe would have blamed him.

Optimus had restrained himself from that, at least, and had ordered them to return to base with Ironhide while the rest of them did a quick scan of the city to be sure Barricade had left.

As Sam would have said, the whole situation really sucked.

The only saving grace was that Sunstreaker hadn't stepped up to make an awful situation worse. Sunstreaker had been uncharacteristically silent throughout it all, accepting Prime's accusations and following Ironhide without a word of protest, even when he'd secured them both in the large hanger normally reserved for the human's jets.

Prime had said he would deal with them sometime in the next day, which really meant that part of their punishment would be staying here, agonizing about what their reprimand would entail. That was a tactic that Sideswipe was very familiar with.

The hanger was dark, Ironhide not bothering to turn on any unnecessary lights before locking them in, and Sideswipe switched his optics to infrared, the better to see his strangely quiet brother. He wasn't in recharge, just sitting so that he was leaning against the steel sheeting that made up the wall. His optics were shut, his scanners running on minimal.

Very carefully, Sideswipe picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at Sunstreaker's head. He landed a solid shot in the middle of his forehead and Sunstreaker jerked in surprise, weapons cycling to the ready as he sat up and looked around somewhat wildly.

"Mmm…something wrong?" Sideswipe asked, making his voice mod sound as though he'd been startled out of recharge.

"…no," Sunstreaker muttered, settling back down.

Sideswipe waited patiently, counting the passing time in both Earth and Cybertronian measurements until Sunstreaker finally settled down again, his scanners set warily at a slightly higher level.

Again, he picked up a pebble, aiming this time for the auditory sensor on the side of his brother's head. His aim was perfect and this time Sunstreaker didn't ready his weapons, only sat up, looking up at the ceiling above them with some bewilderment. Sideswipe held very still as Sunstreaker finally moved, crawling to sit on his other side. He settled back down, rubbing the side of his head absently and resumed his leaning posture against the wall.

Seconds, then minutes ticked by before Sideswipe slowly, slowly reached for another pebble. His fingers had just closed over a likely one when his hand was painfully grabbed and stilled, Sunstreaker's optics glaring at him through the darkness.

"What?" Sideswipe asked, all pure innocence but his guilty amusement was already threading through their bond, revealing him. Their renewed intimacy was deepening their spark bond again and he was out of practice in fine art of concealing himself from his entirely too cunning brother. Sunstreaker made a sound of exasperation and let him go, only to have to duck from the pebble that would have clipped him right between the optics.

"Stop acting like a child," Sunstreaker said sullenly. But he couldn't hide his own flickering amusement, not from Sideswipe, ducking his head to hide a smile that was trying to show. Sideswipe didn't hide his own smile and wouldn't have if Optimus himself had been glaring down at him. Sunstreaker only sighed and shook his head, as though _he_ were the innocent one in their set, tolerating his brother's antics.

"If you were going to get us both on punishment detail, you could have at least invited me along from the beginning," Sunstreaker said, finally, but there was no resentment in his voice. "I would have enjoyed dancing with you."

"You wouldn't have been satisfied with just dancing," Sideswipe said dryly. But he touched his brother's hand, lightly. They were prohibited from using their holo projectors but a simple touch couldn't get them into more trouble than they already were.

"Then we could have provided the humans with a very interesting show," Sunstreaker quipped. He played a quick, playful blurt of music that Sideswipe's internet search quickly identified as 'The Stripper'.

He laughed inwardly, let Sunstreaker feel it through a private channel and then in a reckless moment of daring, he left the link open, baring himself. It was something he hadn't allowed in a long, long time. Involuntary sharing aside, he hadn't let Sunstreaker actually link to him since…that memory lurched against the locks he'd put on it and Sideswipe resisted seeing it, particularly now with his surface thoughts bared and vulnerable. Physical joining as an holo was safer, less exposed, less likely to backlash and leaving him reeling from his brother's abrasiveness yet again.

But Sunstreaker had saved Bumblebee, and had spilled his own fluids to do it, had saved _him_ just tonight, and Sideswipe needed a deeper joining than a burst of human-style mating. Had to feel that his brother was alive no matter what misery and regret it would cause him later.

Sunstreaker's hesitance in accepting the link was a surprise but after a long pause, he did, twining his surface emotions to his brother's. For once there was no bitterness or cruelty, nothing hidden, lurking darkly beneath the surface. Sunstreaker was his other half, no matter how broken or damaged that half was and to see him like this was as devastating as it was pleasurable, as collected as he'd been since longer than Sideswipe cared to think about.

It made Sideswipe want to cling to him, pressing the link a little deeper with startling fierceness that Sunstreaker felt and responded to, still hesitant but willing. Sunstreaker as he so rarely was and Sideswipe hid deeply in his own processors the fervent, useless wish that it could always be like this. Sunstreaker wouldn't, couldn't be. Whatever fractures that were in his spark would shift again, sharp edges grating, and his mercurial moods would swing back to cruelty and sullen bitterness, but for now in this one moment he was sweet, blissful perfection, Sunstreaker as he _could_ be, if Primus had been kinder.

-_I know_-, Simply, soft acknowledgment threaded through the link and Sideswipe drew air raggedly into his intakes. -_I'm sorry_-

So very, very soft, a bare confession. Sunstreaker knew who he was. What he was. Sideswipe's internal processors tracked the time they sat together, basking in the gentle pleasure of joining, and it was some time before Sunstreaker broke the silence, one of his hands hovering over Sideswipe's.

"Can I touch you?" Sunstreaker asked, uncertainly.

Sideswipe smiled a little. "I could never stop you." He felt Sunstreaker wince away, oddly, achingly vulnerable and caught his hand before he could withdraw, their fingers scraping lightly together. "You can always touch me."

It was a lie and they both knew it, but Sideswipe wanted to believe it. He truly did and Sunstreaker didn't press for the truth.

So very long since they had done this, and Sideswipe was so relaxed that his processors brought up a memory of the very last time he'd seen Sunstreaker so collected, hundreds of earth years ago. Sunstreaker collected sexual experiences with organics like others might collect battle trophies but Sideswipe had only ever had one. A brief interlude that he'd meant as a distraction from Sunstreaker's frequent infidelities and equally constant cruelty, but he'd shocked himself by loving her, he'd loved her so much, before, before-  
_  
::She's dead!::_

::No!:: Sideswipe wailed. Hot blasts of volcanic ash were still raining down around them, her twisted, broken body so tiny in his hands, the screams of her people as they fled from him just as much as they fled from the fury of their own world, and if he'd been scanning the area Sideswipe could have warned them about the shifting tectonic plates, but he'd never even told her the truth of what he was, pre-industrialized organics but for a brief time she'd been his and he'd loved her.

::She's dead and there's nothing you can do about it!:: Sunstreaker shook him viciously.

::I never even told her-::

::And now you never will:: Cruelly but it shocked Sideswipe into looking at his brother, who'd come for him the moment he'd felt Sideswipe's upset and pain ::We need to go! They're too frightened of us to even save their own lives!::

It was true. The little humanoids were in a frenzy of terror and as tenderly as he could, Sideswipe laid her body down and followed his brother, nearly blinded by his own grief as they left first the city, then the planet, rejoining the others on the Ark and Sideswipe had remained there this time, waiting until they had refueled enough to resume their journey and their search for the Allspark.

So close at this moment that the memory had bled through their connection before he could stop it and he realized the very moment Sunstreaker received it, his expression shifting to one of shock.

"You're thinking of her?" he said, blankly.

"No," Sideswipe denied it. It was only a half-truth, but he had been thinking of Sunstreaker_ first_. How strong he had been, hauling Sideswipe back to the ship, how protective he'd been, for just a little while, shielding him from the curiosity of the others. None of that made its way through the connection, sudden firewalls blocking everything but base emotions.

"You're here with me thinking of that little scrap of flesh and bones—" Sunstreaker hissed, optics blazing and the link between them flared with emotion, an uncontrollable stream of data_jealous/jealous/hurt/jealous/hate/jealous/hurt/jealo_- before it severed completely.

"Sunstreaker,"_ Sunny_, he reached out through wifi, imploring, but the connection was broken, rebuffed painfully hard.

"Don't call me that," Sunstreaker said, coolly. "Don't you _dare_."

He might have expected Sunstreaker to force him, cling to him with bitter jealousy the way he always did even as he blithely mated with any organic that caught his fancy. He wasn't sure what to do with a Sunstreaker who turned away from him, shuttering his optics closed and ignoring Sideswipe's tentative sending, _-Brother? Please. I'm sorry.-_

No reply, no indication he'd been heard and after a long moment, Sideswipe went into an uneasy recharge, completely alone in his head for the first time since they'd landed on Earth.

tbc


	25. Prime and Punishment

**Title:** Prime and Punishment  
**Author:** Keelywolfe

* * *

Sam hadn't seen the large hanger from the inside before and he might have been more interested in the jets and other human vehicles stored inside it if he weren't here to get 'his due punishment', as Bee had called it. Yet here he was, waiting in silence with the twins for Optimus to get here and let them all know exactly how disappointed with them he was.

It had been past noon when Bumblebee had finally woke him up with soft kisses, little whispery touches against a mouth that was a little sore from the night before. He'd been relishing muzzy memories of it when Bee had suddenly pulled away, ignoring Sam's sleepy protests.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he'd apologized, "but I told Optimus I'd have you at the main hanger in twenty minutes and I suspect you'll want to take a shower before you go."

A shower, yeah, and then a caffeine transfusion would be nice. Sam had given Bee's neat clothes and hair a sleepily resentful look before he'd dragged himself into the shower. Blissful hot water woke him up the rest of the way and since Bumblebee was the best alien boyfriend ever, he'd had a cup of coffee waiting for Sam when he'd stumbled back into the main room.

His mumbled gratitude and professed love were gurgled into hot coffee but Bee's amusement told Sam he'd gotten the idea.

"Better hurry up. I'd prefer not to keep Optimus waiting," Bee had cautioned and Sam had agreed, downing his coffee fast enough that the scalding heat made his eyes water as he scrambled into one of the nicer outfits Bee had chosen for him to wear on-base. He was in enough trouble and honestly, he pretty much deserved anything he got handed. Optimus was way too busy and way too important to deal with something like this, and what had started out as just a bad idea had rocketed into nearly lethal.

Frankly, Sam felt like shit for causing them all this trouble; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker who'd just been trying to help and Optimus who _trusted_ him. He remembered Optimus telling Bumblebee that he expected better from him and cringed to think of that disappointment directed at him. Getting it from Optimus would be even worse than his parents—

"Aww, man," Sam slapped his forehead, his shirt hanging open as he wriggled into his pants. "My parents are gonna kill me! Are they going to be there? At the hanger?"

Bumblebee's expression hadn't made him feel much better. "Ah, no, they're unaware of what happened. I told Optimus that as you are an adult of your species, it was unnecessary to inform your parents of your actions."

"Really?" Sam perked up.

"He agreed. And said that since you _are_ an adult of your species, you should be able to inform them yourself. Sorry."

"Great," Sam sighed, flopping down on the bed. He'd taken just a second to mourn his fate before slipping on his shoes, tying them quickly and following Bee's Holo out the door and into his car form. Bee sat in his own driver's seat, hands on the wheel, and Sam watched him, a little bemused. So which one of them was actually driving?

"So what's going to happen here?" Sam asked instead, deciding to satisfy his curiosity on that another time. Better to know what he was facing now.

"Optimus will inform you how disappointed he is in your behavior and may add that he expects better from either Autobots or you in general. Then he will hand out work detail. He is a great believer that busy hands are well-behaved hands," Bee said dryly.

"You sound like you've heard that speech before."

"More than once. Sideswipe has heard it so many times that he made a chart that documents its conception, evolution, and various additions that are included based on just how much trouble you caused and how remorseful you are."

"What do you think I'll get?"

"For this? My guess is a week or two of manual labor plus confinement to quarters, depending on just how pissed off he is. What you did wasn't all that bad but the outcome was, so…" Bee shrugged. "Plus, this is your first offense. He'll take the variables into account."

Translation, he was grounded and he'd have to do chores. That didn't sound like anything he couldn't handle. He hoped Sideswipe and even Sunstreaker fared just as well. It had been his fault they'd gotten in trouble to begin with and none of them had factored in them getting arrested and attacked by Decepticons.

At least Bumblebee wasn't angry with him. Sam was almost shamefully grateful for that and wouldn't have blamed him if he had been angry. He should have asked, he _should_ have talked to Bee, or even Ratchet, before going off like that but panic always equaled stupid in his personal life equations. Bumblebee wasn't angry with him and they'd managed to avoid anyone dying. If all he got was a dose of Optimus's disappointment and chores, he'd call it good.

Bumblebee had left him at the door with instructions not to talk to anyone in there until Optimus arrived. The hanger was huge, loaded with jets and equipment that Sam didn't recognize, the walls lined with racks and boxes. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had already been there, sitting against one of the walls and Sam had hesitantly gone up to them. Sideswipe had offered him a wry smile and a wave in the direction of a weird metal scaffolding thing that Sam had gone up, a little wary and confused. When he got to the top, though, he got it. From here, he was tall enough to actually talk to Optimus without either him staring at his ankles or Optimus crouching on the ground.

Sam leaned against the metal railing and sighed quietly, waiting for the leader of the Autobots to come and ground him. All in all, it could be worse.

It could be his mom.

* * *

Optimus waited until five minutes past the appointed time before he went in to speak to his recalcitrant troops and his young charge. The twins would feel the passage of time keenly and he suspected Sam would as well, allowing their anxiety towards their punishment to draw out like a blade.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were already on their feet as he approached and Sam noticed him a moment later, straightening automatically to match the twins posture. Two of them bore the properly repentant expression and Sunstreaker…well, Sunstreaker was as he was. His expressions rarely bore any truth to his emotions.

The twins, one of the last remaining true spark twins amongst his people. This was not the first time he'd had these two before him and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. He did not question their loyalty- Sunstreaker in particular had obviously proven himself very recently protecting their own with his very life—but they did have something of a troublesome side.

Although he would certainly never say it, Optimus had never faulted them for their unruliness. He was no Megatron, to demand unthinking obedience from his troops; so long as they accepted that their actions had consequences and they could choose to accept those consequences as their due. A just society had rules, even if that society was currently in tatters.

Normally, Optimus had no trouble punishing them for their transgressions, giving them the appropriate lecture along with their punishment. Not that he expected any of his lectures to make a dent in these two: he'd seen Sideswipe's chart on his speeches and had been privately amused. Today, though, he was tired. Spark-deep weariness after dealing with human politicians and military leaders as he tried to carve a place for his people into this world. As he tried to _find_ his people, find the Decepticons, build a city around them…so many things to do and he very much didn't want to deal with youthful foolishness today.

His knee also ached, the new gears grinding just enough to cause irritating pain. Ratchet was more thorough than gentle in his work, although there was certainly occasion to appreciate that. Not that he had been able to persuade Ratchet in that direction today, not after he'd made his desires so very clear. Optimus had been of two minds about saying anything at all, and yet, Jazz was so fresh in his mind lately and he wanted…well, what he wanted and what he could have were undoubtedly two different things, but that was a truth he'd grown accustomed to a very long time ago.

His three miscreants were still waiting patiently for him to begin what they undoubtedly thought would be a lengthy tirade. Sideswipe's chart on his speeches had been very thorough; perhaps it was time to add an unknown variable.

Optimus stopped in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest, regarding them sternly. "You all know what you did and you all know that the consequences of those actions could have resulted in your death or the deaths of innocents. It did not. Therefore, I am giving you each work detail and confinement to quarters. Sam, as a human you are to work eight hours a day with Ratchet for one week. He volunteered to make sure you were 'kept busy', in his words."

Sam winced visibly, to Optimus's satisfaction. His assessment of that situation was correct, then. Ratchet's wrath held more weight with Sam than Optimus's disappointment. Certainly it would last longer, he thought wryly.

He turned to the twins. "Sunstreaker, you will continue working with Ironhide and you will repair the sensor array that you damaged in order to leave the base undetected. I trust you have no issue with that?"

A curt nod was his only response.

"I would like to add that this punishment will be concurrent with your previous one. You saved Sam and Sideswipe's lives and very possibly the lives of many other humans, and that is reason alone to be grateful. Your punishment is for not going through proper channels, not for your actions."

There was no response, but Optimus hadn't expected one, though he sighed inwardly. That small praise had been for more for his benefit than Sunstreaker's, as he knew it would go unappreciated. If he was no Megatron, than Sunstreaker was certainly no Bumblebee, eager for praise and delighting in proving himself. In one moment he would nearly die to save another and in just the next, he would be discovered with a highly illicit firewall in place. A mass of contradictions wrapped in a frequently sullen and angry form, his brilliant choice of paint held no hint of the darkness within him.

Truthfully, he'd probably chosen that shade of yellow as a wordless slur against Bumblebee.

It didn't matter; even if Sunstreaker never showed a hint of pleasure at any praise Optimus offered, he would still give it.

"Sideswipe," Optimus continued, "I shall see to your punishment myself. Two weeks, sixteen hours on duty, double shifts for the both of you, and eight hours of recharge, confined in your quarters…Sam, when you are not otherwise occupied with work detail and meals, you shall also be confined to quarters, however, I will allow you visitors."

"Wait, wait," Sam protested, holding up both hands. "I get one week and they get two? That's not fair, they were only trying to help me out."

Optimus shifted to bend down slightly. Even on the raised platform, Sam was nowhere near his height. While Optimus had no issue with making use of his size for intimidation, Sam was not one that he ever wanted to be afraid of him. "Be that as it may, this is far from their first infraction. They are both aware of the consequences they would face."

"It's still not fair," Sam persisted, stubbornly. The Twins held their silences, although Sideswipe shifted uneasily as though he wanted to silence the boy. Those two certainly knew that defiance of orders often resulted in additional punishment. It would seem that Sam had a similar idea. "If they are getting two weeks then so should I."

"Very well. Two weeks," Optimus agreed and he was silently proud of the young human. His actions had been equal parts foolish and dangerous, and while Mikaela's explanation, as it had been sent to them through Prowl, had been frantic and disjointed, Optimus had still understood Sam's fear. He was brave in his actions, oh, very brave, but when it came to emotions…well, there were older beings than Sam who had a difficult time with their emotional entanglements.

Optimus knew a few personally.

Proud or not, his probability calculators had told him that the margin of error had been very slim indeed. If Sunstreaker had arrived even seconds later, if Sideswipe had had even the tiniest bit less power, none of them would be having this discussion. "Sam, as the savior of this world and my life, I hope you understand that I would appreciate if you would consider your own life worth protecting as well. Please remember that we brought you here to keep you _safe_."

Sam wilted visibly under the rebuke, as Optimus had expected. He gentled it, just a little, not wanting the boy to be overburdened with guilt. "We were very lucky that no one was hurt, including you. Another reason to be grateful."

He would have dismissed them at that, but Sunstreaker spoke abruptly, his optics still focused forward.

"Permission to speak, Sir," Sunstreaker said curtly.

"Permission granted," Optimus said, warily. He had been waiting for some input from Sunstreaker since they'd met on the highway. Sunstreaker was normally _very_ vocal in his displeasure, trying even Optimus's patience at times. On one occasion, Optimus could recall Sunstreaker being injured in battle and Ratchet doing field repairs. When his ranting had reached a fevered pitch, Ratchet had calmly tweaked his voice modulator to run several octaves higher than normal. Everyone on the remnants of the battlefield who had still been conscious had laughed to hear Sunstreaker swearing in a voice better suited to a petrorabbit.

The memory was so keen, particularly Sunstreaker's expression when he actually paused long enough to really hear himself, that Optimus had to dial down his amusement levels to keep from smiling. He didn't, however, close down the memory. Knowing Sunstreaker it would be best to have something running in the background that would help him keep his temper.

As if just to prove he still had the capacity to surprise, Sunstreaker said firmly, "Sir, with your consent, I'd rather be confined to quarters on my own."

More than surprising. In all their long years of service, he couldn't recall a single instance of Sunstreaker _asking_ to be separated from his brother. Sideswipe's expression was stricken; although he kept silent, he was obviously trying to message his brother. Messages that Sunstreaker ultimately ignored, his optics focused with surprising calm on Optimus.

Sideswipe turned those messages to Prime but Optimus sent them back, unopened. This was a personal issue between brothers and he was having no part of it.

"If that is what you prefer, I have no objection," Optimus agreed, guardedly. Sunstreaker nodded, ignoring Sideswipe's obvious devastation.

Sam was looking at Sideswipe with obvious concern but if he had objections, this time he kept them to himself.

"Sam, as your bodyguard, Bumblebee will escort you to the infirmary." He waited to hear if Sunstreaker would comment on that, fully expected him to murmur some snide remark on the human or Bumblebee, perhaps both. But the smaller 'bot kept his silence, his optics focused forward.

"If there is nothing else, then you're dismissed. Sideswipe, you are with me. I trust you two can find your own way?"

Two equally mute nods and he watched as both of them made their way to the door, Sam trailing far behind Sunstreaker's much longer strides.

"Sam?" Optimus called, with a touch of inner mischievousness that he doubted Sam would believe. The boy turned back to him, his expression wary. "Tell Ratchet I said hello."

* * *

Sam hadn't expected Bumblebee to actually come with him into the infirmary, in both his forms no less, but he wasn't sorry that he had. Dealing with Optimus on his own had been enough on his nerves for one day and damn, but he could do the 'I'm disappointed'_ so_ freaking well. He wouldn't have had to even say anything; Sam had been ready to throw himself on the ground and beg forgiveness at the first saddened look.

It was strange to think that not all that long ago, he wouldn't have even realized Optimus was upset. Robotic faces weren't perfectly suited for expressing human emotions but it hadn't taken much time at all for Sam to learn to read them, to notice the minute changes in their optics as they shifted with their moods. Whether that was just because he had them figured out or that his receptors were feeding him tips, Sam didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain about it.

And if he wasn't mistaken, by Ratchet's expression, he was in a good mood.

"Don't linger at the door, come in," Ratchet called, and good God, he sounded practically good-natured. "There's a great deal of delicate and perishable items in here so I keep the cooling units quite high."

Good natured, hell. He sounded downright _cheerful_ and that was just seriously creepy.

A little warily, Sam did as he was told, Bumblebee both beside and behind him as they let the door swing shut. Ratchet was across the room, doing something on the floor, but Sam was in no hurry to find out what. He was kind of scared that Ratchet in a good mood meant someone was dead.

Maybe Bumblebee agreed, because he wasn't exactly rushing over, either.

"Um, Optimus said I was supposed to come here for my punishment. I mean, work detail," Sam corrected hastily, just in case Ratchet got any weird ideas. Who knew what kind of files he'd found on the internet? He added, tentatively, "He also said to tell you hello."

"Of course he did." And that sounded more like the Ratchet they all knew and feared. "Bumblebee, would you please help him up on one of the exam tables? I'd like to get some scans on him."

Wordlessly, Bumblebee did, letting his holo fade away as he scooped Sam up with deft gentleness that might have surprised a human who didn't know him as well. Sam just relaxed back into the cup of his palm as they stepped close enough to Ratchet to see he was crouched on the floor next to a table. Or what was left of one, anyway, this one was literally melted in half, with hardened dribbles of metal pooled on the floor. Sam's mouth dropped open as he stared and Bumblebee made a little chirp of surprise.

"What the hell happened in here?" Sam asked, blinking. Now that he was closer, he could actually see a line burned right into the floor, like some kind of laser fire.

"It's classified. I'd tell you, but then I would be forced to destroy you," Ratchet said calmly and Sam transferred his stare to him. Ratchet had a really weird sense of humor which meant that might be a joke. Or he might be trying to pick the best form of execution, it really was hard to say.

Bee's grip was very gentle and it was enough of a connection for him to send, -_He and Optimus probably broke it last night_-. Aloud, a quick blurt of bow-chicka-wow-wow music played, in the best of porn tradition.

Sam covered his ears but there was no blocking that mental image, "Seriously, Bee, gross!"

Ratchet went a long way towards proving that he had what Sam thought might be bizarre psychic powers by chuckling, "Contrary to what you may believe, the two of you did not invent sexual interaction."

"No, that was Ratchet," Bumblebee said, and while his face in his robotic form wasn't constructed for smiling, Sam could hear the smirk in his voice mod. "Back at the beginning of time when he was sparked."

"I'll defer the title of eldest to our fearless leader," Ratchet said blandly. "However, I could well believe that he may have invented pleasurable interfacing. He's particularly talented at—"

"Stop, stop," Bee begged, shuddering dramatically. "You win."

Personally, Sam thought he'd gotten the worst end of deal. Autobots didn't have to dream and he'd be having nightmares about this discussion for weeks.

"I thought I was here to work," he grumbled as Bee finally set him on an exam table that was large enough for almost any Autobot. It meant Sam was all but swimming in a sea of shiny stainless steel and he couldn't help being relieved when Bee's holo form shimmered into existence next to him. He took Sam's hand without a word, lacing their fingers together and squeezing encouragingly.

Ratchet seemed to have decided that the table was a loss, given the kick he gave it when he stood up, hydraulics whirring as he finally came over to them. "You were assigned to me, which means I get to decide what you do and right now, I want you to sit still so I can examine you."

"Optimus will get mad if you dissect me," Sam warned as he lay back.

"I'll just tell him it was an accident with a laser welder," Ratchet murmured, wryly and Sam decided he really, really didn't want to ask. No, sir, he did not.

A faint beam of light swept over him from Ratchet's wrist, slowly moving from his ankles on up. It didn't feel like anything although why Sam thought it should, he wasn't sure. It wasn't like he could feel an x-ray, either.

"Why don't you make a holoform to exam me?" Sam asked, warily, as that bluish beam hit him as waist level. He hoped like hell it wasn't some kind of radiation, because he wasn't sure he was ever going to actually have kids, but he did kind of want to keep the option.

"Because I hate it," Ratchet said absently. His optics were focused to the left, something Sam had come to associate with them either accessing the internet or thinking particularly hard. "The imprecision of what is essentially secondhand knowledge to my central possessors is aggravating, as is having to compensate for it. Holo forms, as you call it," and the distaste in his voice mod told him how much Ratchet liked that description, "were not designed for providing the accuracy that is required for medical procedures. I often use one when I am assisting one of the human soldiers because it calms them when they are already in a stressful condition. You are unbothered by my natural form."

Translation, Sam didn't mind so he didn't bother. It was true enough, anyway. Scans finished, Sam stood back up and took Bee's hand again. He felt better holding it.

"Your receptors are essentially unchanged since the last time I scanned them," Ratchet murmured. That didn't sound like bad news to Sam but Ratchet didn't seem particularly pleased by it. "I had hoped that they would develop the ability to draw from your energy source on their own but they seem content to remain as they are. As pleasurable as frequent sexual intercourse must be for you, Sam, I think we've determined that this isn't really workable as a long term solution."

Ratchet tapped one finger on the exam table, hard enough that it made a mellow ringing sound, as he considered. "Sideswipe told me you had some success at recharging during a session of masturbation."

Sam was glad he missed that conversation. He wasn't entirely thrilled to be here for this one. The warm hand holding his squeezed gently, comfortingly, an assurance that at least Bumblebee wasn't upset to be talking about this, and thank god for small favors.

"The adaptions they've already made are quite fascinating," Ratchet murmured, almost as though he'd forgotten the two of them were sitting right there. Bee mouthed 'Spock' and Sam stifled a snicker. "I just can't figure out why they won't try to pull from your energy source. It would be a great deal more efficient. Perhaps it's time for us to find a way for you to communicate with them."

Immediately, Sam tensed, just the thought of them installing parts into him like some kind of creepy cyborg filling him with rising terror, insane thoughts of Robocop, of a hundred stupid sci-fi movies, no, no, no fucking way he was a human and he wanted to _stay_ a human, weird receptors aside-

The harsh whine of feedback was like a sudden shriek, Ratchet and Bumblebee flinching back hard. Both of Bumblebee's forms clapped their hands over their ears, his face twisted in pain as his robotic form staggered and went down on one knee.

"Stop that!" Ratchet shouted and Sam jerked in surprise, the sound cutting off with a garbled squawk of static. His heart was still hammering in his chest, the taste of panic sharp and bitter in his mouth but he swallowed it away as Ratchet leaned over Bumblebee, one finger lightly touching each audio receptor.

"Better," Ratchet glanced briefly at Sam. "I'm sorry for shouting but I was hoping your subconscious reflexes would be faster than me bypassing your receptors and shutting it down for you. For someone who doesn't have his own speakers, you do a remarkable job at hijacking others."

"I don't want my own speakers!" Sam blurted. "I don't want anything like that, I don't want any…any parts installed on me or in me or-"

"Who said anything about installing parts on you?" Ratchet asked irritably. "Adding Cybertronian parts to a human?" Ratchet shuddered visibly as he helped Bee to his feet. A tentative touch on Sam's shoulder told him that Bee's holo form had crept back to him. "That kind of complication I do not need."

Oh. Well. That was different. A little sheepishly, Sam asked, "Then how?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a visor of some sort," Ratchet said, tapping his own optics. "Something to provide you with a viewscreen."

"Like sunglasses?" Bee prompted.

"Yes, sunglasses would work," Ratchet mused. "I could arrange for them to have a visual display on the inside. Should be easy enough ."

Computerized sunglasses. Only in Autobot City. Sam frowned as he considered it, "Like…Halo?"

Ratchet looked baffled but Bee nodded eagerly. "Yes, like Halo. A HUD display."

Ratchet's optics flicked to the left as he assessed the web and found the information.  
"Halo," he grunted. "Yes."

"But, to communicate them wouldn't they still have to be attached to me somehow?"

Ratchet and Bumblebee glanced at each other and Sam could feel that they were communicating silently. "Just spit it out," Sam said impatiently.

"Spitting it out always seems to result in damage to my audio cortexes," Ratchet said dryly, flicking one finger against the side of his head. He considered a moment long before he said, finally, "Sam, your receptors are already connected to your central nervous center."

Okay, and that was news to him. "What? I thought they were just, on my skin or something." Almost absently, he rubbed his fingertips over the tattoo on his upper arm, Bumblebee's name interposed on him like a skin-deep love letter.

Ratchet crouched down in front of the table so his optics were level with Sam, his expression obviously upset. "I thought you realized. Do humans really know so little about their own functions?"

"Well, I don't have a personal HUD display," he snapped. Yet.

"You have eyes!" Ratchet shot back. "They are causing physical responses in you. Sexual arousal, healing, didn't you notice that your bruises from yesterday are almost gone?"

He hadn't. He hadn't noticed a damned thing and he couldn't even get mad at Ratchet about it because he was sort of right and really, he should have noticed _something_.

Okay, maybe he could still be a little mad at Ratchet, he was the alien doctor, he should know enough about human culture to realize Sam would be blissfully oblivious, damn it. "Why do I need to communicate with them anyway? You guys talk to each other through the wifi all the time, why can't you tell them to stop treating Bee like a giant Red Bull?"

Another shared look. "We tried." Bee admitted. "But they don't understand our language."

"But they speak Cybertronian!"

"No, they don't," Ratchet sighed. He closed his optics and rubbed a thumb between them. "Verbally, they are assisting in your language skills but their programming language is different. They will work together with the receptors you have from Bumblebee but they are not actually communicating. Their mutual co-existence allows for some bleed over in their assistance with your primary functions but minor interaction is not interconnecting."

All Sam could do was stare at him blankly. Why was it his receptors could help him understand Cybertronian but not Ratchet?

"Sam, the Allspark is from the beginning of our existence. Bumblebee is barely older than an adolescent," Ratchet said, a bit impatiently.

"Hey!"

Ratchet ignored Bee's objection. "Programming changes and adapts. We no longer speak the internal language of our ancestors." At Sam's doubtful look, Ratchet's optics flickered, the Autobot equivalent of an eye roll. "I can't help but notice that you don't speak Aramaic, Sam."

"But what about you, you're old!" Sam protested.

"Much as I appreciate your faith in my ancient linage, I am not _that_ old," Ratchet informed him tartly. "Even Optimus attempted to communicate with them but their language is even older than that of the Primes."

"So what makes you think that I'll be able to communicate with them?"

Ratchet raised his hands a helpless gesture. "They are a part of you, chances are they'd be more willing. When Bumblebee attempted it, they were affectionate but uninterested in deeper communication and they had no interest in all in Prime or myself. Not rude, just oblivious. Perhaps if you could make some rudimentary contact with them, you can convince them to draw off of you instead of piggybacking energy off of Bumblebee."

Sam was starting to think there wasn't enough Tylenol in all the world to deal with the headache he was getting. "I guess it's worth a try."

"Glad you approve," Ratchet said dryly. "Until you get your medical degree, perhaps you'd prefer to defer to me with any of your health care issues?"

"You don't have a degree either," Sam pointed out.

"I doubt there is a facility on this planet that would be qualified to evaluate my knowledge. Now, before I put you to work, and I am, I do have one last question for you."

Sam shrugged. "Shoot."

"Please do not tempt me," Ratchet murmured and Sam felt Bumblebee shake with silent laughter. "Now, Sideswipe sent me a detailed report about your encounter with Barricade. At one point, you were in a jail cell and he was attacking you with plasma bursts, correct?"

"Yeah," Sam said a little weakly, swallowing hard and didn't protest a bit when Bee wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder. It made it easier to look at Ratchet and repeat, firmer, "Yeah, that's right."

"According to Sideswipe, he pushed you to the floor and covered you both with a force shield. His power cells were already operating at minimum and according to him, you assisted in energy support of his shield."

"I did?" Sam blinked in surprised, brow furrowed as he thought back on it. At the time, he'd been a little too busy trying not to die to pay much attention to anything his receptors were doing. "I guess I did."

"Can you explain what happened?"

"Er…no?"

That earned him a sharp look. "At least attempt to work with me, Sam, I am trying to help you."

This time, it was Bumblebee who made an impatient sound, "Ratchet, he doesn't know—"

Sam interrupted him, "Wait…Sideswipe was shielding me and I could just feel it was going down so I just pushed….kind of."

"Pushed," Ratchet said thoughtfully. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the opposite wall, looking for all the world like a twenty foot tall high school student waiting by his locker between classes. "Hmm, interesting. Can you do it again now?"

"Uh. How?"

"I have no idea. My functions are as innate to me as breathing is to you. How did you do it the first time?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to _push_, like he had when he was a kid trying to move his toys with his mind, just to see if he could.

Nothing.

He tried harder, tried to reach for the energy that just had to be there, he'd done this once…

Another minute ticked past before Ratchet finally spoke up. "All right, all right, stop before you have a stroke. You must have simply been lending your energy. It's easy enough to do even subconsciously."

Sam opened his eyes to find Ratchet had already abandoned them and gone back to his wounded table. "So…that's cool, then?"

"It's a lot better than you spontaneously generating a force shield," Ratchet replied, almost absently. He was studying the table as if by sheer force of concentration he could make it rise again, whole. Then again, this was Ratchet; for all Sam knew, he could. "Receptors are a very basic form of nanotechnology. They aren't supposed to be able to create anything that complex."

Oh. "So what should they be able to do?" Sam asked. Really, he should just get Bumblebee to put together a user manual for him.

"Beats me." That made Sam blink in surprise but Ratchet just shook his head a little. "Your receptors are from the Allspark and are unlike ours. I suppose I could guess but please remember, I am not a magic 8 ball."

"No, that's okay. I guess."

"Good. If you don't have any further questions, I believe we should begin on your work detail. Bumblebee, I'm sure your skills are needed elsewhere?"

It was a very pointed, very polite, get the hell out. Bee took a moment to kiss the back of Sam's neck, finding a surprisingly sensitive place that made Sam shiver, leaning back into the damp touch of lips.

"Are sure you don't need a quick recharge before I go?" Bee murmured softly. But before Sam could reply, Ratchet did it for him.

"His power cells are fine, did you two sleep at all last night? And I am not about to go stand outside just so you two can engage in coitus. He's here to be punished, Bumblebee, you may recall?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bee grinned, tossing a flippant salute in Ratchet's directions. It earned him a rude gesture in return and he left laughing, leaving Sam to Ratchet's tender mercies.

Sam sighed and sat down, waiting patiently for whatever was to come. Whatever it was, he hoped that it didn't have anything to do with what had happened to the table.

TBC


	26. Gravitational Drift

**Title:** Gravitational Drift  
**Author:** Keelywolfe

* * *

The military hadn't provided Sam with the best mattress that money could buy, a sharp contrast to the awesome shower that he'd gotten, but after working in the infirmary all day, Sam was eager to collapse on it, not even bothering to pull back the blankets.

He was, Sam decided, seriously a wuss. For all his whining about equal punishments, he'd only managed to put in a seven hour shift before Ratchet had kicked him out with a blunt warning not to tell Optimus.

"If he does find out, we'll call it a medical necessity. Go get some rest and I'll see you in the morning," Ratchet had told him. He'd completely ignored Sam's rather feeble protests, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Ratchet hadn't seemed like he was ready to call it a day.

So as tired as he was, Sam couldn't help a tinge of guilt at leaving Ratchet on his own. There was so much to do, he'd had no idea. Sam had spent the day cataloguing the supplies and sorting them, boxes and boxes worth of stuff and that was just a tiny fraction of the work to be done. Sam had been working on all that just because it was easier for him; just the thought of Ratchet trying to sort through all those tiny boxes was comical. Of course, he could do it in his holo form, if he'd had any _time_. There were also stacks of components for Ratchet to repair, neat piles of fuel capacitors for him to weld, and the only reason Sam knew what those were was Ratchet had warned him to keep away from them. Add in the fact that he was, you know, the only doctor on base and it was a wonder Ratchet got any rest at all. Maybe he didn't.

How was it no one had assigned Ratchet an assistant before, Sam wondered, sleepily. There was just no way he had enough time in the day to do everything. Not with humans and bots alike dropping in, needing everything from band aids to sutures to…well, whatever Ironhide had needed, he'd made Ratchet swear at him in Cybertronian, so quick and static-sharp that Sam hadn't even gotten all that he said.

A soft knock on the door startled him into sitting up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as the door opened a little, a head peering into his darkened room.

Very softly, "Sam? You awake?"

"Dad?" Sam blinked a little, frowning as he reached over and snapped on the light on the nightstand. "Yeah, I'm up, come on in."

His dad slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. For a moment, all he did was stand awkwardly by the door, his hands in his pockets and Sam couldn't think of anything else to do but smile feebly, pulling his legs up enough that he could rest his arms on his knees.

"Haven't managed to catch up with you for a couple of days," his dad smiled, a trifle uncomfortably. That much was true. His mom stopped by all the time but Sam hadn't seen his dad since he'd gotten out of the infirmary the first time.

"Yeah, been sleeping a lot," Sam offered, watching as his dad wandered around his room, checking out his meager possessions. Most of his stuff was still packed away, waiting for things to calm down enough to get Sam moved to better quarters but in the meantime, it was a little stark in here. He didn't have so much as a poster or a picture on his nightstand. He'd have to get one of him and Bee, maybe with his parents, Sam decided, watching his dad give the growing pile of his dirty clothes a little kick. He really did need to find out where the laundry facilities were; so far, waiting for the laundry fairies to wash it for him wasn't exactly working out.

Long years of experience had taught him that this was his dad with something on his mind and Sam resisted the urge to fill the silence with chatter, hoping that Dad would cough up what was on his mind so that Sam could get some sleep. Tempting as it was plead exhaustion, Sam just couldn't, not right now. Things weren't quite right between him and either of his parents just yet and Sam had run away from the issue for long enough, thank you very much. He could hang on a little bit more.

He didn't have to wait too much longer.

"Sam…" his dad sighed, pushed one hand through his thinning hair as he finally turned towards Sam. "This isn't what I wanted for you, son."

"Look, Dad, I know—"

He raised both hands and Sam fell silent. "Stop, stop, just listen for a second now. You're just like your mother, if I let you get going, I'll never get in a word edgewise. I'm not saying that I disapprove or that I'm going to haul you out of here. No, no, this is…I mean, Christ, Sam, first contact with aliens!"

He sighed again and to Sam's surprise, his dad sat on the edge of the bed and yanked him into a hug. "As a parent, you always have dreams for your kids and Sam, I gotta tell you, this is not one I ever had for you." He was squeezing Sam almost too hard but Sam didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around his dad and held on right back. "It's okay, I'm dealing with it. But I am never going to be happy that your life is in danger. I'm never going to stop worrying that you're going to get hurt and I don't mean just physically. You're my kid; it's my job to worry about you until I'm old enough for you to toss into the nursing home and probably even then.

"If you're happy, I'm happy." His dad let him go, finally, leaning back enough to look at Sam with narrowed eyes. "And if you ever decide you're not happy, you let me know and I will get you out of here. I don't give damn what the army and the twenty-foot robots think, you hear me?"

"Yeah, dad, I get it," Sam said, and if his voice was oddly rough, both of them pretended they didn't hear it. Something that had been too tight in his chest for far too long had eased a little, leaving behind aching relief. No matter what kind of fights they had, Sam loved his parents and damned if their approval didn't matter, a lot.

"Good." His dad reached up and ruffled Sam's hair, ignoring his son's protests. "Get some sleep now, I hear you have work detail this week."

"Yeah," Sam said glumly. Optimus had said he needed to tell his dad but he hadn't said exactly when. "I was kind of stupid—"

"So I hear," his dad said pointedly. "The Autobots wouldn't cough up any details but the army boys didn't mind throwing your ass on the fire. You're lucky that I told them your mom could do without the details of your latest near-death experience."

Shit. So much for secrets. "Sorry—"

"Save it. You'd probably have gotten into some kind of trouble at college, too. But the stakes are a little higher here, Sam, don't forget that." Very seriously. "You want to break up with your little boyfriend, that's one thing, but if staying on this base is keeping you alive, I'll handcuff you to the bed myself."

"I'm not breaking up with him," Sam mumbled.

"That's fine," his dad said agreeably. "The kid has a great car."

"He _is_ a great car," Sam said, with cautious humor.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still working on that. It took me a month to figure out how to program the Tivo, remember?"

Later, after his father had left but long before that ache started deep inside him, throbbing for energy that they refused to take from him, Sam woke to arms sliding around him. Hands drifting over skin and Sam turned sleepily to kiss that soft, sweet mouth.

He was never too tired for Bee.

* * *

On the edge of the city, far enough away from the buildings and on the opposite side as the landing strip, there was a large section that had been set aside for training. Much needed training as far as Optimus and Ironhide were concerned. They'd been in cramped spaceships too long, in and out of stasis as they'd traveled in search of the Allspark and while programming didn't change, skills could and did atrophy. Ratchet admitted, grudgingly, that he'd focused most of his processors on his medical skills at the expense of his battle routines. Medics who were capable of more than just basic field repairs were getting fewer and farther between in both factions. At the time, it had been the only logical choice.

Privately, Ratchet thought it was probably a damned miracle that only Jazz had been killed at Mission City. None of the Autobots, aside from Bumblebee, had been on the planet long enough to do more than adjust for the gravity. Now that they had a base of operations on this planet, there was no reason that they couldn't focus once again on training their troops to the optimal status.

No reason at all except that there weren't enough hours in the day for Ratchet to handle the very basics of what he needed to do, much less add in training sessions. Having Sam to help out with some of the smaller details had been a gift from Primus and Ratchet was seriously considering asking the boy if he might consider staying on to help after his punishment was finished. He had a good attention to detail and the infirmary was due for some desperately needed order.

Ratchet was doing what he could with it but he was really too damned busy for anything but medical duties. Unfortunately, Ironhide didn't agree and on his last visit, Ironhide had threatened to come physically drag him out of the infirmary and give all the soldiers, Autobot and human alike, a good show. He could do it, blast it, and would do it, which was why Ratchet was reluctantly going to the training grounds now. Not that Ironhide couldn't have just pulled rank on him; outside of a medical emergency, Ironhide certainly outranked him. But they had been friends for a long, long time. The threat of certain humiliation was a much better incentive or, at least, it was more amusing to Ironhide.

The sun was just cresting the horizon as dusk fell but Ratchet could still see with his regular optic settings, Ironhide standing on the edge of the cleared field, waiting for him.

"'bout time you got here," Ironhide grunted.

Ratchet ignored that, settled his weight evenly on both feet as he eyed the weapons specialist. "Let's get this over with. I can't spare more than an hour."

Ironhide only snorted air through his vents, clearly unimpressed with Ratchet's temper. "You'll spare what I say you can spare, Medic." And before Ratchet could think of a suitable retort, he was struggling to remain on his feet as Ironhide abruptly launched himself at him, using his large size and weight to drive Ratchet off-balance.

With embarrassing swiftness, Ratchet found himself pinned three times in quick succession, spitting equal amounts of dirt and curses as he struggled back to his feet yet again. Ironhide was standing a few feet away, his armor barely smudged much less covered in the fine layer of dirt that Ratchet's had.

"That was pathetic, even for you," Ironhide said bluntly, pointing one long finger at Ratchet.

That stung, even if it was true enough. He might be a little out of practice but Ratchet was still more than an effective fighter; he'd be dead if he wasn't. "Any damage I do to you, I have to fix!"

"Bullshit," Ironhide scoffed. Trust him to have already picked up all the local colloquiums. He settled on the ground with a hiss of hydraulic pressure and a long sigh, motioning for Ratchet to join him. "You'd dent me to hell and back just so you could bitch about having to do repairs. So what's wrong?"

"You aren't a counselor," Ratchet said ironically, settling his weight down on the ground next to Ironhide. There was still a faint rim of sunlight edging the horizon and Ratchet turned off his electromagnet spectrum calculator in order to just appreciate the fullness of the atmospheric coloring. Their idea of beauty was far different than that of a human but Ratchet thought that wonder at a lovely sunset should be a universal trait.

"No, I'm the tactician who's going to organize a group training session just so everyone can watch me kick your ass," Ironhide said lazily. "But let's not go through all that trouble. Talk to me."

It was tempting; he and Optimus were both older than Ironhide, but Ratchet had _known_ Ironhide longer than any of them, even Wheeljack. In a way, he'd met Wheeljack through Ironhide, he'd been head of security at the lab in Iacon where they both had worked at the onset of the war.

Tempting, yes, but his issues at the moment were highly personal on several levels. His processors should have been focused on his duties, on the very necessary fuel capacitors, on people, human and Autobot alike, who were depending on his medical skills, on any number of things. Instead, thoughts of Wheeljack and Optimus were tangling through his concentration and no amount of focusing or forced firewalling was keeping them out. Ironhide would not be his first choice as confidant but since his first choice was a part of the problem-

"Prime asked me to partner with him," Ratchet blurted out, cutting off his voice processors as soon as those words had tumbled free, before any other foolishness could spring free. He was far too old to be so wrapped up in this; he was acting more like Bumblebee than an Autobot of his true rank and years, caught up in ridiculous personal entanglements.

Ironhide didn't so much as flutter his optics, frowning as he rubbed at scratch on the paint of one his cannons. His response was almost anticlimactic. "Oh yeah? Finally going to make it official, are you? 'Bout time."

"What?" Ratchet asked, a little blankly. This wasn't quite the reaction he'd been expecting.

This time Ironhide looked at him, "Come on, everyone knows you two have been banging sparks for ages. I've got good odds that you'd finally settle in now that we're planetside." He nudged Ratchet lightly. "Win an old friend some energon, will you, and make an announcement about it."

Ratchet looked away, down at the thick red dirt beneath them. The last fraction of sunlight finally vanished beneath the horizon and he automatically switched his optical settings for night vision. An analysis for the dirt scrolled through his visual display and Ratchet took a moment to examine it, idly.

"You don't seem very happy for someone with a good partner, and Optimus is about as good at it gets." Ironhide prompted softly.

"I already have a good partner!" Ratchet reminded him bitingly, "I am partnered to Wheeljack."

"Not likely to forget it," Ironhide told him, his voice mod quiet. "Wheeljack is a damned good friend of mine, to all of us. But we haven't heard a blip from Ark-36 in a long, long time. There were a lot of good 'bots on that ship, Ratchet, and no one wants to believe they might be gone."

No, no one wanted to believe it, and yet they all did.

"So what's the problem then," Ironhide said, with uncharacteristic mildness. He ran his cannons through a cycle, soft clicks and whirrs as they turned. "You two are compatible, obviously, and if some part of your processors wasn't at least considering it, you'd have already told him no."

True enough, but Ratchet kept his silence for a moment longer, calculating the humidity in the air, the percentages of the various gasses that made it up. Anything but the irrational and very personal concerns that simply would not let his processing units alone.

"What if…" Ratchet stuttered to a stop and then forced himself to confess his worst fear aloud. "What if I agree and then we hear from them? What if Wheeljack comes to Earth after waiting years for me and finds me partnered with someone else?"

Ironhide turned to look at him, somewhat nonplussed. "Well! Never took you for the romantic type. But I'll play along. It's certainly possible that could happen and I'm not gonna say it's not. How about this, though, what if you tell Optimus no, wait for Wheeljack, and then they arrive on Earth and you find out he's been fucking Grimlock all this time?"

There was silence while Ratchet processed that, a mere fraction of a second, before he lunged at Ironhide and grappled him with his bare hands, slamming into him with viciousness that he hadn't managed earlier. Alerts were blaring red in his visual display, damage percentages, overheating warnings, and Ratchet didn't truly pay attention to a single one because all his processors were focused on ripping Ironhide's back struts out through his nasty, lying mouth.

Motion, the sky he'd been admiring blurring as they rolled across the ground and it wasn't until he felt the brutal force of impact, pain from a solid collision with something that didn't readily give, that his fury receded enough for data to flow properly again and he was able to regain a modicum of calm. Ratchet came back to himself to find Ironhide had both his hands wrapped around Ratchet's wrists, keeping him from tearing into him by sheer force. Dismayed, Ratchet jerked free and clattered backwards, sprawled on the ground to stare at his friend and fellow officer.

Ironhide rose up on one elbow, regarding Ratchet warily and it wasn't until he heard a deliberate cough behind him that Ratchet realized they had an audience. A few 'bots and some humans, all of them probably drawn by the sound of several tons of metal ramming into one of the outlying storage buildings. They'd hit it hard enough that it was listing to one side, Ratchet noticed with embarrassed dismay, and he was silently thankful that all the buildings on the perimeter of the city were non-critical storage.

Worse, Optimus was approaching, his long strides bringing him very quickly to where his Senior Medical Officer and his Weapons Specialist were sitting like shamefaced sparklings, waiting for a dressing down. Optimus stopped in front of them, hands on his hips as he regarded them.

"What is going on?" Optimus asked, more curious than angry. He was considerably calmer than when he'd caught Sunstreaker and Bumblebee at each other's throats, probably because it hadn't even occurred to him that Ratchet and Ironhide might actually be fighting. Ratchet was known for his temper but he preferred to wound verbally; made less work for him to deal with later.

"Training," Ironhide said succinctly. His expression was a particularly displeased scowl and Ratchet winced internally. Perhaps he needed to run a thorough diagnostic on all his processors because an internal glitch of some sort was the only reason he could think of that he might have actually attacked Ironhide. They had been needling each other for millennia, each smug and eager to get in one last insult, and not once in Ratchet's memory had it ever turned more physical than a quick slap upside the head.

"Please refrain from destroying the entire city?" Optimus said, shaking his head. "Save some for the twins when they get out of isolation." His optics lingered on Ratchet and he pretended not to notice, frowning at a large dent in his chest plate. That would self-repair in time; his worst injury was his hand that had been caught between their bodies and the building at the point of impact. Two of his fingers wouldn't bend completely and one was completely jammed.

Optimus turned and walked away, the others trailing behind him, just as Ironhide roughly pulled Ratchet's hand to him and started poking around, ignoring the medic's startled exclamation. With a snort of irritation, Ratchet suffered through Ironhide's more or less thorough inspection even as he resigned himself to a little one-handed surgery later tonight. His own fault, he knew better than to use his bare hands against Ironhide's armor. May as well punch a mountain of titanium, while he was at it.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, curtly, once everyone was out of earshot. Ironhide snorted aloud.

"I'm not. You're a hell of a fighter when you get a kink in your fuel line. You made your point, though; you're still hung up on Wheeljack pretty bad."

"He's my bonded. I am not 'hung up' on him. I love him."

"Uh huh." Ironhide pulled firmly on Ratchet's jammed finger and Ratchet cursed aloud as the dislocated gears snapped painfully back into place. "Then you should know him well enough to realize he'd want you to be happy. Not cooped up in the infirmary by yourself all the damn time."

"I am never by myself in the infirmary," Ratchet said dryly.

But Ironhide shook his head, apparently not considering a constant flood of patients to be company. "Yeah, you are. I'm scheduling you for combat training twice a week."

Shocked, Ratchet blustered out, "I am a perfectly effective fighter—"

"Then soon you'll be a better one. Shut it or I'll make it three."

Ratchet scowled, watching sourly as Ironhide positioned his grip carefully on Ratchet's hand. He might have argued the point more if he hadn't just tried to tear Ironhide's head off. "Fine."

With a wrenching yank, Ironhide pulled Ratchet's other fingers back into their joints, abruptly enough that Ratchet couldn't stifle his yelp of pain and an inspiring burst of profanity. Not that he actually complained; he could appreciate the similarity in his own bedside manner, although he couldn't help wincing as gears shifted and ground until they settled back into place.

"What I wouldn't give for a little decent lubricant," Ratchet grumbled, flexing his fingers cautiously. They would ache for the rest of the day and that wasn't going to help his concentration in the least. Of all the moronic, rash things he'd ever done-

"Try some wd-40. Stuff works great."

Ratchet gave him a horrified look. "You're using an unapproved petroleum-based product on yourself?"

"Yeah, and so is everyone else but you and Optimus. We both know he wouldn't do anything to worry your pretty little head. Don't knock it till you try it."

"When I'm spending days cleaning out gummed up works…" he threatened even as he reluctantly considered running a few tests on it. It wasn't as if he was going to be able to synthesize any quality lubricant anytime soon.

"I love you when you're bitchy," Ironhide grinned.

"I'll show you bitchy when you come in for your next checkup." His interest in discussing his own problems had waned considerably. "I've barely been able to keep up on the latest news, what's been happening this past day?"

Ironhide shrugged, picking bits of gravel out of his knees. "Nothing about the Decepticons since Barricade's attack. Bee's been back on monitor duty for a week but he hasn't found anything since—"

"Since that virus nearly scrapped him, yes."

"Kid's tough."

"If you let him hear you call him that, you'll find out just how tough."

That earned him a derisive snort that spoke of just how worried Ironhide wasn't about Bee. /span "I've got burrs on my gears that are older than him and the twins put together."

"Don't we both. How has Sunstreaker been, anyway? I did ask Optimus what horrors you could have committed to have earned Sunstreaker twice in one month."

"Quiet." At Ratchet's look Ironhide shrugged. "I know. Kid is starting to worry me. He's never been what you'd call stable and now that he's not rooming with Sideswipe—"

"What?" Ratchet said, startled. That was quite unexpected, particularly since Optimus has specified that separating them would not be part of their punishment.

"He asked. Wanted his own quarters."

"Even at their worst, they've always shared quarters."

"I know." Ironhide absently flicked a small rock at Ratchet, making him scowl as he dodged the tiny projectile. Not that it would have hurt but it was the principle of the thing.

"I'm concerned," Ratchet admitted slowly. "Sunstreaker was affected by that virus as well, if only in the peripheral."

Ironhide gave him a sharp look. "You think he's infected?"

Ratchet shrugged. "I've scanned him a dozen times and found nothing, but I wouldn't put it past the Decepticons to find a new trick."

"What about Bee?"

"Not a glitch, but he doesn't have Sunstreaker's instability," Ratchet pointed out. Abruptly, he felt very tired and gave serious consideration to skipping both surgery on his own hand and just about anything else he'd had on his schedule for the night in favor of a long, decadent recharge. There wasn't a single 'bot who would begrudge him and Optimus had all but ordered him to get in some recharge.

"If he wasn't such an ass, he'd tell us," Ironhide sighed and Ratchet gave him a scrutinizing look that turned into an outright scan. No surprise that Ironhide was getting very little rest either and Ratchet resigned himself to another long night of work. He'd sleep when he was dead, he expected, and Primus knew that could be at any time.

"Maybe, maybe not," Ratchet finally replied, "You don't exactly come running to me with every ding and dent."

Ironhide only grunted at that. "You never did answer my question, you know," Ironhide pointed out. "Are you gonna make it official?"

Ratchet didn't answer. "Your next appointment is here." Arcee was slowly approaching them. She had just arrived on planet a few days before and was still adjusting to her new alternate form, had barely adjusted to the gravity. There was still an odd cautiousness to her steps that indicated she was still calibrating her sensors.

Abruptly eager for the chance to escape, Ratchet began to stand, only to clatter back down when Ironhide deliberately swept his legs out from under him. He ignored Ratchet's startled curse and only caught him by the arm, pulling Ratchet in enough to whisper just loud enough for the words to carry, "If you get tired of rubbing circuits with Optimus, I'm quartered in the sixth district."

Ratchet smacked him in the head hard enough that the clang echoed. Ironhide only smirked, rubbing at the small ding. "Hey, worth asking!"

"Idiot," Ratchet said, with exasperated fondness. He left the two of them to walk the short distance back to the training grounds together, tossing a little mock salute to Arcee, who returned it with an obscene gesture. It made Ratchet chuckle and if he heard the sadness in his own voice mod, he didn't acknowledge it. He might not have answered Ironhide's question but he'd already made his decision; now he just had to implement it. He'd weighed the options and there really was only one choice he could make.

He couldn't do it.

Oh, it was tempting and he couldn't deny the logic of Ironhide's arguments. But…Wheeljack.

There were few left in their ranks who would remember it, but when they'd first met, Ratchet hadn't been able to _stand_ Wheeljack. He was brilliant and enthusiastic, as lively as a sparkling and dangerous as unprocessed energon. It had been Wheeljack who'd been running the tests on the experimental high performance fuel that had not only blown the lab door clean off its hinges, but the door had continued its journey through the wall and imbedded itself into the next one. It had been Wheeljack who'd been involved in the legendary neutron detonator incident and Ratchet was still relieved that he had only heard about it and hadn't actually been there to pick up the pieces. Literally.

Mechs who didn't know him personally might have wondered how Wheeljack managed to keep his assistants from project to project but one only had to meet Wheeljack once to understand. He was just so damned enthusiastic, made his experiments sound so utterly reasonable that normally cautious 'bots join him in plots that were tantamount to insanity. More than once, Ratchet had found a sheepish group of mechs in his infirmary, Wheeljack in the lead and perhaps if they'd shown even an ounce of shame he might have been more sympathetic. Instead, they had often chatted eagerly about their latest disaster or worse, made plans for another. The absolutely worst part of all was that his ideas almost always worked….eventually. It was getting to eventually that was the dangerous part.

Humans and Autobots alike might tease Ratchet about his bedside manner but on Cybertron, no medic had any patience in treating preventable injuries, particularly Ratchet, who had little patience at all. But all the scolding and threats had beaded off of Wheeljack like water on freshly waxed armor and more often than not he'd be back all too soon, cheerily waiting for his repairs.

It had been the instance when he'd seen Wheeljack for the third time in a single day that Ratchet had finally snapped. "Wheeljack, I swear by the holy spark of Primus, if you don't start taking more safety precautions then I am going to see about getting your laboratory authorization suspended!"

And Wheeljack had looked at him with that same bright interest that he did everything else and said with perfect sincerity, "But if I did that, when would I ever get to see you?"

After that, it had all been over but the ceremony.

Everyone liked Wheeljack, even the occasional Decepticon. What Ratchet had never been able to fully process was why Wheeljack liked _him_.

Once, after a particularly long and equally pleasurable interface, Wheeljack had told him, -_You are the kindest, gentlest, most caring mech I have ever met.—_

Ratchet had snorted aloud, not even trying for enough energy to speak verbally. Wheeljack had always been particularly enthusiastic in everything he did. _–I'm sure you're the only one who sees that in me.—_

_-No one sees you like I do, Ratchet_—Wheeljack had replied, oddly solemn for once.

_-I agree. Perhaps I need to run a diagnostic on your optics-_

He hadn't seen Wheeljack in over a thousand of Earth's years, hadn't talked to him in nearly as long. One day they'd been in contact with Ark-36 and the next, it had simply been gone. There were hundreds of possible outcomes and Ratchet had run the probabilities more times than he cared to think about, everything from a hit by a stray comet, to a crash landing on a distant planet to a Decepticon attack. Ark-36 had simply stopping communicating and there was a chance that any day now, any year, a thousand years from now they might get that message. Or they might never get it.

If Ratchet took another partner, then Wheeljack would truly be gone and Ratchet wasn't entirely sure he could stand to be in a universe where that was true. And Optimus deserved someone who could give him the full weight of their affection. More and more Autobots would be arriving very soon. Optimus could and should have his pick of partners and wouldn't have to settle for whatever distracted affection that his gruff old chief medic could offer him while he waited for a message that would probably never come.

A strange ache in his spark at that thought but he ignored it. Optimus had asked him to consider it and he had, from every angle, and the only logical solution seemed to be for him to let Prime go, completely, free him to find someone else.

For a moment, Ratchet hesitated, leaning heavily against one of the storage buildings and closing his optics. It was tempting, so very tempting, to just go back to the infirmary tonight, return to his work and sink himself back into it. But he could admit, albeit reluctantly, that Ironhide had been right about one thing. He'd been hiding in the infirmary long enough.

His feet felt unusually heavy as he turned towards Optimus's quarters and Ratchet absently set his equilibrium stabilizers to recalibrate during his next recharge.

Perhaps gravity was weighing a little too strongly on him today.

tbc


	27. My Mechanical Romance

**Title:** My Mechanical Romance  
**Author:** Keelywolfe

* * *

Even though he had never been inside Prime's quarters, Ratchet knew exactly where they were. They had always kept their personal relationship confined to the spacious infirmary or, more rarely, Ratchet's cramped quarters. Not that they had ever made an attempt to conceal what their relationship; Ratchet was under no illusions that every member in the Autobot army not only knew what they were doing, but probably had various betting pools going on about it. Ironhide had only confirmed his suspicions.

No, he had never met Prime at his quarters for one reason and one reason alone; the polite fiction. If they met at the infirmary or even Ratchet's quarters, they could pretend it was for official reasons. Perhaps Optimus needed repairs or was inquiring about another Autobot's condition. It was certainly possible. But there was really only one reason Ratchet could be venturing into Prime's quarters and even though he was aware of exactly how this looked and that everyone would know within minutes of his first visit here, Ratchet didn't hesitate. This would only take a moment and the knowledge that he and Prime had ended their relationship would spread with equal speed.

Gossip was rampant with Autobot ranks and secrets were difficult to keep.

He didn't bother with anything so human as knocking. Optimus would know he was here and the door opening was an invitation to come inside. To his surprised, Captain Lennox was there as well, sitting on a tiny folding chair while Optimus crouched low on the floor. Both of them looked at him expectantly and Ratchet was at a loss.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were otherwise occupied," Ratchet murmured, already backing towards the door. "This…it's not important. We can discuss it later."

"Nah, it's good," Lennox called up to him with a good-natured grin. "We're about done."

"Yes," Optimus moved with slow grace, rising to his full height and Ratchet thought it was a testament to the Captain's personal strength that his pulse never changed, still as calm as it had been when Ratchet arrived. At least one human wasn't afraid of them. Two, Ratchet allowed. Sam hadn't flinched from them since the day they'd arrived on the planet. The boy had an amazing wealth of personal strength, both for his species and in consideration of what he'd been through in his short life.

"We'll continue this tomorrow when we have more information," Optimus said gravely, his optics on Lennox, who nodded easily.

"Sounds good," he said agreeably. "Get some recharge, you two, big things are going to be happening pretty damned soon." With a quick salute and a knowing look that Ratchet ignored, the human took his leave of them and it was only after the door closed behind him that Optimus turned his gaze to Ratchet, genuine pleasure in his expression.

"I wasn't expecting you," Optimus said, curious but unalarmed. He waited expectantly and Ratchet braced himself for things he needed to say. He had to do this; it was for the best to break things off completely and Optimus might be a little hurt but in the long run it would be better for both of them, for Optimus to be free to find someone more able to give him the relationship he desired.

But when Ratchet opened his mouth he found he couldn't say a word. He ran a quick diagnostic on his vocal processors and found they were fine. He was just strangely reluctant to speak.

Not afraid, of course not. The repercussions of breaking things off would be minimal; Optimus would accept it with the same calm equanimity that he always did because that was who he was, he was their Prime and he would accept any decision Ratchet made, whatever that decision was and he would never treat Ratchet any differently.

They had been friends before they had indulged in any intimacy and they would be friends again, and Optimus would never hold it against him. Ratchet _knew_ that.

And he knew that Optimus would never let anyone know just how badly it hurt him.

Optimus had asked him for whatever he was willing to give.

Perhaps...perhaps he could be just a little more willing. Just a little. He didn't have to break things off right now, Optimus had suggested he take time to consider it. Perhaps it would be best to wait until there were more Autobots on Earth so that Optimus could easily find another to console himself with. Ironhide had been right about that much. Now that they were planning on remaining planetside for the foreseeable future, Optimus could use a good partner.

There was a human phrase, that it was useless to shut the barn door after their livestock had escaped and Ratchet thought the term applied here. He and Optimus had already interfaced. He supposed little harm would result if they simply maintained that for a little time yet. But that was all they would be.

Optimus was nothing at all like Wheeljack for one thing. Dignified where Wheeljack had been enthusiastic, calm where Wheeljack had been near manic, overloading on ideas and concepts, caught in a web of his own brilliance to the point that Ratchet had occasionally forced a medical recharge on him just to keep him from burning out. Cautious where Wheeljack had been anything but.

The only thing they had in common was that brilliant charisma, both of them had in their core the ability to make others take insane chances, whether it was on experiments or in battle made little difference. Any one of them, including Ratchet, would die for Optimus; not because he was their leader, nor because he was their Prime. Simply because he was Optimus.

No, they weren't suited to be partners. It would be better to remain friends with benefits, to borrow another human turn of phrase.

Ratchet found himself speaking before he even realized he had formulated the words. "You said you wanted to touch me?"

Not at all what he'd meant to say but he couldn't retract the words after seeing Optimus visibly brighten, stepping in close. With an internal sigh, Ratchet resigned himself to it. They were both older than human civilization but Optimus engaged in intimacy with the enthusiasm of one who'd only just discovered his pleasurable interfacing software. He did have to admit, that kind of enthusiasm was easy to appreciate. At least it didn't result in any explosions.

Optimus was considerably larger than him but instead of frightening, it was soothing, to be held so firmly in arms that could easily crush him, large fingertips tracing down his back, running delicately along the smooth lines of his armor.

"I still don't see the appeal," Ratchet muttered grouchily, resting his head against the heavy armor of Optimus's chest.

A soft sound of amusement vibrated close to his auditory sensor. "We are not particularly designed for touch sensitivity. But humans are."

A mech with no language coding could understand the implication in that. "You want to have intercourse in a sensor array?" Ratchet pulled back enough to look at him, nearly vibrating with indignant protest, "I am not a simi!"

"Of course not," Optimus soothed, his touches deliberately gentle. "I said no such thing."

"You didn't have to, you pervert," Ratchet muttered. Pervert wouldn't have been his chosen word but the Cybertronian one he would have preferred would definitely have ruined the mood that was coalescing between them. Instead, he simply sighed, leaning just a little into those soft touches. "You're trying to take advantage of my good nature."

The rumble of laughter was not unexpected. "I sincerely doubt anyone could take advantage of you." Wisely, he refrained from commenting about Ratchet's nature, good or otherwise.

You have no idea, Ratchet thought, but he didn't say it aloud.

Wheeljack had been in simi relationship once, before he'd bonded to Ratchet, and he'd shown Ratchet everything he'd learned from it, terabytes of date to process. He'd loved the touching, the sticky mess of organics. Ratchet had been fascinated by the process, still was truth to be told, but he wasn't an organic and didn't care to replicate it. Wheeljack hadn't pressed the issue, even once, and with a jolt of unexpected grief, Ratchet abruptly regretted that.

Again, without consulting him, and he really needed to run a long diagnostic, his vocalizers spoke, "Let me go, then, and we'll try it. At the very least it would be interesting from a researcher's point of view."

He had shocked Optimus, Ratchet noted with amusement. Obviously, Optimus had only been teasing and had probably expected a barbed refusal. That didn't stop him from stepping back with near clumsy eagerness, practically bouncing on his toes like a sparkling as he waited impatiently for Ratchet to form an extended sensor array. If only the others could see Optimus squirming like a youngling in his first interface. He doubted there was any other mech still alive who had seen Optimus the way Ratchet had.

Ratchet kept his sighs internal as he formed a holo, as the humans called it, of the stout, older man that he had created to assist in his duties. The lighted shine had barely dissolved before Optimus was frowning and Ratchet hadn't shifted his sensory perceptions into it yet, left it standing like a mute doll as he scowled at Optimus.

"What's wrong?" Ratchet asked impatiently.

"Why do you still have this sensor array?" Optimus asked, with genuine confusion. "You told me before that it's uncomfortable and you dislike it."

"That's true," Ratchet said, shrugging. "I'm getting used to it."

"No amount of use will ever make this form comfortable for you," Optimus countered. "You set your parameters to the humans expectations of you rather than matching them to your own internal schematics. You're a medic, you _know_ this."

"And you know that having to deal with the panicked humans during a medical procedure is difficult enough without having them terrified of me!" Ratchet snapped.

"Yes, their expectations are important," Optimus said agreeably, "which is why I rarely use mine. The humans expect me to be in my natural form or more rarely, my alternate vehicle form and that is what I maintain for them. But I am not human and their fear doesn't mean you can't have an alternate form that is comfortable right now."

"I suppose," Ratchet allowed, warily. He had a bad feeling that he knew exactly where Optimus was going with this.

"Let me show you my interpretation?" A small smile. "I've seen your internals enough times to generate an idea."

"Oh, all right!" Ratchet grumbled. This time he did extend his sensors into the form, taking the time to transform and back away first. Opening his eyes was disorienting and he steadied himself before he walked over to Optimus, a little shakily. Looking up at Optimus from a human vantage was like looking on Primus himself, terrifyingly large, if he had actually been terrified. It wasn't as if Optimus could, or would, hurt him and Ratchet had no fears.

One large finger touched him and he allowed Optimus access, changed the form as per Optimus's coding, adjusting the dimensions and coloring into whatever it was that Optimus had decided was suitable for him.

Ratchet grudgingly agreed that it was a better fit. An unsuitable holographic rendering was uncomfortable to inhabit, to say the least, and this one suited his mental schematics to a much better degree than the one he had created.

Reaching up, Ratchet lightly touched his face. He had never installed human sensory patterns, although Optimus had given him the file some time ago. He could sense pressure and temperature, the minute changes between them because he needed it when he treated the soldiers but he hadn't bothered with anything past that.

"Here." Optimus transformed with a low clatter of shifting metal, sliding easily into the shape of a large truck and he tipped a side mirror obligingly.

Carefully, Ratchet stepped up on the side rail to look in Optimus's side mirror. Light brown hair, just long enough to brush against his new ears. Pale hazel eyes looked out from behind the small, round lenses of a pair of glasses. He touched them bemusedly. Well, he supposed this said something about Optimus's tastes, not to mention his own internals, considering how comfortably his perceptions slid into this form.

And young! Primus, barely older than Bumblebee. Another face appeared next to his own in the mirror and Ratchet frowned at it, and that frown was purely his own.

"You are aware that I can't use this," he said amused. "The soldiers are expecting a gruff old army surgeon to treat them, not Doogie Houser."

"I'm sure you're right." Hands lightly rested on his hips, faint pressure. Optimus had black hair, deep black that hung just past his shoulders and searingly blue eyes. His form was young as well but at least it was older than Ratchet's. "Add the sensory perception."

"Fine," he sighed. It took a moment to unpack the file and integrate it into his receptors. Now he could feel the hands touching him and took a breath he didn't need, let it out slowly. He had never done this but he'd sifted through Wheeljack's files and knew that species' specifications very well. Humans were obviously more sensitive to physical sensation.

He turned to look at Optimus but his diagnostics hadn't caught up with his changed dimensions and he promptly hit his head on the mirror, hard enough that an error message flashed in his vision. Ratchet cursed loudly although his false human larynx wasn't quite capable of the harsh syllables of Cybertronian. The first sensation he'd wanted to feel in his form was not pain.

"Careful." Optimus's fingers were gentle as they sifted through his hair, rubbing the painful spot soothingly.

"Well, this is certainly fun," Ratchet said scathingly, still smarting from the unexpected pain.

"Come on," Optimus caught him by the hand and coaxed him forward as his side door swung open invitingly. With only a little reluctance, Ratchet allowed Optimus to push him up into the cab, the seat obligingly sliding back and leaving them plenty of room.

"In the front seat? How quaint." Ratchet said dryly, lying back on the wide bench.

"I've been assured that this is a well-established human tradition." Optimus followed, bracing himself over Ratchet on his elbows. It did feel good, Ratchet admitted, grudgingly. Optimus's weight was a comfortable pressure against him and their heights were close enough in this form to match their bodies closely, chest to chest and hips to hips.

Ratchet looked up at him warily, still not completely convinced but if Optimus wanted this, he could at least try it once. "When a human, do as the humans do?"

"Something like that," Optimus said agreeably and then his patience seemed to be at an end as he finally silenced Ratchet with his own mouth. Wet, _shockingly_ wet, the alien sensation of a tongue pressing against his lips and Ratchet opened to it uncertainly. He knew how to do this, data-wise; humans had terabytes of information available about the proper way to engage in their sexual acts and Ratchet had gone through them with clinical interest. He'd never thought to actually _use_ that information.

It did feel good, he decided, allowed Optimus to deepen the kiss, the light flick of a tongue against his own was not unpleasant. A faint sound of appreciation from Optimus was enough for Ratchet to tip his head up into the kiss and attempt to reciprocate, moved his own tongue against Optimus's in what he hope was a pleasing manner. If Optimus wanted to try this, just once, he supposed it wouldn't be too great a sacrifice. At least he could trust Optimus not to share a video file of it.

Optimus broke the kiss, nuzzling at Ratchet's chin and he obediently tipped his head to the side, let Optimus lick a damp path to his ear and stimulate the nerves of the delicate lobe.

This was...different than their other shared moments of intimacy, and not just because they were in a human form. While he might tease and flirt, Optimus had always been generally content to let Ratchet take the lead in the intimate encounters. Even their first interfacing, Ratchet had gone to him, a little desperate and lonely and wanting, and he'd given Ratchet everything he'd been craving and more. Perhaps it was a relief to let someone else take charge of some aspect of his life and Ratchet had had no difficulty in taking everything Optimus offered.

Interfacing with another mech was an internal act, a sharing of pleasure through their processors in order to induce overload. It was extremely pleasurable in a way he couldn't explain to organic species and he wasn't particularly surprised to find that the human sexual act didn't compare. Oh, it was pleasant enough but it was nothing as delightful as a-

"Oh!" he huffed out, surprised at the bright flash of pleasure as Optimus pressed a leg between his own, the hard pressure of his thigh against his groin. Ah, yes, human males did have a large amount of nerve ending in their genital area. Experimentally, he arched his hips up towards that pressure and was rewarded with another burst of pleasure. Rhythmic pressure, Ratchet recalled, a little hazily, that was how humans achieved climax.

He might have continued like that, content to rub against Optimus's thigh but his partner in Autobot perversion wasn't cooperating. He was, in fact, pulling away, pushing Ratchet's shirt up until he found bare skin to stroke with light, teasing touches.

Ratchet started to protest before he even considered exactly what he was protesting and stifled it quickly. This was supposed to be for Optimus and he couldn't even keep from making demands for a few minutes? Far from displeased, Optimus only chuckled softly, the gust of his breath against Ratchet's skin making him shiver even as Optimus edged lower, the damp touch of his tongue skimming just above the barrier of his jeans.

"Get rid of these," Optimus murmured, a touch impatiently, and Ratchet did with vague amusement. Apparently pretending to be human didn't extend to removing clothing like one. It was a relief to have the constricting material gone, his erection springing free and he barely had time to sigh before Optimus slid lower, pressing the wet heat of his mouth against the newly exposed skin.

"Ah!" Ratchet cried out, shamefully close to a wail but he didn't have a chance to consider his own embarrassment. Not with Optimus mouthing him, licking softly and when his mouth finally closed around him, sucking Ratchet's very good approximation of a human cock into his equally well-made mouth, Ratchet very nearly screamed, sinking his hands into the heavy softness of Optimus's hair to hold him there.

He might have been analyzing the sensation, calculating sensation versus pressure, slickness and temperature, engaging in the research he'd considered before. He might have, if he hadn't been busy whimpering and squirming between Optimus and the seat, his fingers clenched tightly enough into Optimus's hair that he could feel strands of it breaking in his grip. All his senses were swamped with the wet suction surrounding him, with pushing up into it even as Optimus obligingly took him deeper, let Ratchet manhandle him as he awkwardly thrust up, trying to get more, please, just a little more-

He cursed loudly when Optimus abruptly released him, the cold air on his wet skin an unpleasant shock and for a moment, his fingers refused to loosen their grip on Optimus's hair, even when strong hands circled his wrists and gently urged him to let go.

"Shh, it's all right," Optimus soothed, crawling up to press his swollen, too-hot lips against Ratchet's in a tender kiss and if he was amused when Ratchet lurched up and clung to him, turning it into a much fiercer press of lips and tongue, he kept it to himself. "It's all right," he repeated, whispering into Ratchet's eager mouth, "You'll like this, too."

More pressure, and Ratchet was abruptly aware that Optimus was naked against him, his fingers slick between his legs and lower, pressing lightly against his backside. Yes, he'd read about this as well and Ratchet forced himself to obey the data he recalled and relaxed, even though his encoded human reflexes insisted that now was a perfect time to tense up. To his human senses this felt_strange/uncomfortable/erotic_ and he tried to ignore it all and simply relax. Even if it was uncomfortable, possibly painful, it couldn't cause him actual damage, not to a sensor array.

Optimus seemed satisfied with his preparation and pulled his fingers free, shifting his hands to Ratchet's thighs as he pushed them up, positioning him and Ratchet obeyed willingly enough. Pressure against him again, larger and hotter, and Ratchet couldn't hold back a hiss of discomfort, struggling to stay relaxed. The discomfort increased and he closed his eyes but he couldn't turn the pain off. Bumblebee had designed this programming with his usual skill and he disdained anything other than true human sensory input, had set it as an if/then conditional construct. If you were using it, then you would feel everything, no exceptions.

"Easy, relax," Crooned softly against his auditory sensor, no, his ear, he was in a human form. "This isn't supposed to hurt."

"I'm fine," Ratchet gritted out. He kept his eyes closed.

A soft sigh. "Of course you are."

He felt Optimus shift slightly and couldn't stop a soft whimper. It shifted into a startled moan when a large, warm hand circled his still-damp erection, stroking him with a quick, tight grip. Ratchet moaned aloud, helplessly; it was strange, it was almost frightening to have his processors interpret a touch as so incredibly pleasurable and yet, he didn't want it to stop.

They weren't the holograms that humans interpreted them as, not a hollow, shallow form of light. Instead they were built as layer upon layer of receptors into a perfect replica of a human being with nervous systems that felt pain and pleasure, and muscles that could ache and clench, refusing entry into a newly created body. Muscles that slowly relaxed and gave, and Ratchet yelped aloud as Optimus sank a bare inch into him. Primus, he felt _huge_, even as his sensors sent him a quick blurt of body dimensions that Ratchet hadn't seen with his own eyes. It couldn't possibly be an accurate measurement, it felt as though Optimus was forcing a steel beam into him.

Ratchet bit his lip hard, tasted the approximation of his blood with a distant sense of wonder, caught between pleasure and pain.

"Please," gasped from above and Ratchet opened his eyes, startled and then rapt, watching as Optimus strained above him. Watched as sweat slid down his cheeks, dark hair clinging damply to his face as Optimus held still for long, torturous minutes, the muscles in his arms taut and trembling. "Please, you have to relax," Optimus rasped out as Ratchet watched, "I won't hurt you."

He wouldn't. Optimus would stop first, Ratchet knew, and he raised a hand and cupped it against Optimus's cheek, felt the dampness of sweat against his fingertips. "You won't," he agreed shakily, even as he did a quick web search, found the information he wanted. It was easy enough to lift his legs higher, cross his ankles into the small of Optimus's back and_ pull_.

Optimus cried out, whether in protest or pleasure, Ratchet didn't know, his own breath left him in a rush as he tried to adjust to the sudden deep invasion. Humans did this all the time, he reminded himself fiercely, he could do this, and Optimus was shuddering over him, struggling to remain still and failing. Full, achingly full, and red warnings were throbbing in Ratchet's vision. This wasn't pain as he was accustomed to feeling it and he shifted, trying to relieve that uncomfortable fullness and instead felt a white-hot flare of_ pleasure_, Primus, right there, and he wriggled hard, trying to find that place again.

It seemed that Optimus's control didn't include having his partner squirming beneath him and with a shattered groan, Optimus moved, pulling out a fraction before thrusting in again strongly, and now Ratchet heartily approved of sexual intimacy in extended sensor arrays, would have written a long, heartfelt essay on the subject and submitted it to every Autobot in existence so long as it didn't stop.

He was dimly aware that he was being embarrassingly loud, whimpering and yowling like a fool, and he couldn't spare a fraction of his processor to care. He was well accustomed to interfacing, and it held no more mysteries to him, but it had been a thousand years, longer, since he'd allowed himself to feel an entirely new sensation and it was wonderful, blissful, the heat of his building climax searing along all his senses like a lit energon line.

Dimly, he was aware of clutching at Optimus's shoulders, fingers scrabbling over sweat-slick skin, heard the low, harsh sounds Optimus was making as he pounded into Ratchet and red warnings scrolling across his vision were increasingly urgent, a blaring clamor of alarms that he ignored, he was so close, close, the hot rush of pure, unexpected ecstasy wringing a last cry out of him as he came and his vision went abruptly dark.

When he finally came back to himself, Ratchet's sensors informed him that he'd had an unexpected power shutdown and they recommended a scan to determine if there was an internal conflict that had caused it. Impatiently, Ratchet shoved the warning aside, registering internal soreness as well as a certain aching in the muscles of his legs. Blinking, he found Optimus still above him, propped up on his elbows as he watched Ratchet with deep blue and deeply amused eyes.

"If you tell anyone—" Ratchet rasped out, wincing as he tested this body's capacity for movement.

"I would never," Optimus said solemnly but the amusement in his eyes didn't diminish in the slightest. Ratchet resigned himself to Optimus teasing him in private for some time.

He let Ratchet pull away to lean against the door, although he kept one hand on Ratchet's ankle, stroking the thin skin over the faint bump there. "And was it interesting?" Optimus asked conversationally. "From a researcher's point of view?"

Ratchet didn't look at him, pretended interest in his own hands, watching the metacarpals shift as he clenched and unclenched them. To be honest, he felt unexpectedly shaken and had to resist the urge to pull away from the light touch at his ankle. He wanted to be back in his true form, wanted a chance to process the reams of new data, wanted a chance to rest and he couldn't bring himself to say any of that, certainly not to Optimus

"How did you get so good at that, anyway?" Ratchet asked grumpily, trying to push aside his unease.

Optimus made a soft, amused sound. "Are you asking if I've been faithful?"

The question made him wince, withdrawing even as Optimus's expression changed to one of concern. He really would have preferred to be _himself_ just now; human faces revealed far, far too much and he could only imagine what his own face was showing at just this moment.

"No," Ratchet said, harshly. "No, I am not, as I certainly can't say that I have." To either of them. He'd been betraying Wheeljack with Optimus for some time now and did it even matter if they didn't partner on a permanent basis? He would still have to tell Wheeljack what he had done. Everything that he had done, from choosing to begin this relationship to the very simulated mating that he had refused to do with Wheeljack when he'd asked and he had no idea how he was going to explain that.

The concern softened into something else, something that Ratchet certainly didn't want to see. "Ratchet—"

"I can't do this," Ratchet interrupted, turning sharply away. The words he hadn't been able to say earlier came too easily now, spilling out of him like an oil leak. "I've gone over it from every angle and I can't keep dividing my attention like this. I think we should separate permanently. With so many other Autobots due to be arriving—"

He turned back to look at Prime, his voice dying away and all he could do was look at Optimus. Beyond stricken, every line of his face, his body, spoke of pure devastation that Ratchet would never have seen if he hadn't been in a human form. Lips parted in wordless dismay, as if a denial was hovering just on the edge of being spoken.

Primus, could he have even picked a worse time for this? Ratchet had always been harsh but he wasn't prone to cruelty and he couldn't have imagined a crueler time to say this then while both of them were still thrumming with their shared pleasure, with fabricated sweat drying on their prickling skin.

For the briefest of moments, Optimus looked at him with nothing short of utter grief in his blue eyes and then it was gone. He straightened and abruptly his holo form was again dressed as it had been before. "Of course," he said, with his normal, calm dignity. "As I said, the choice is yours."

"Optimus," Ratchet said, hesitantly, uncertain as to what he planned to say, what he _could_ say. He reached out without thought and Optimus flinched, automatic withdrawal that was just as quickly stifled.

"Don't," Optimus said, the word edged with rawness. "I'm sure you're as exhausted as I am. We should both recharge."

His holo vanished, leaving Ratchet sitting naked in his cab with a glittery dusting of used receptors. "I didn't mean to tell you like this!" Ratchet snapped, burning with frustration, with anger, at himself, at the situation.

No response. Either Optimus was already in recharge or he was pretending in order to avoid any other discussion. Not that Ratchet blamed him in the least.

"Fuck," Ratchet said aloud, the human obscenity seemed more appropriate than any in Cybertronian, even if his current vocal cords could have handled it. "God fucking dammit."

He withdrew his sensory perception back into his true form and left the receptors to die away where they were because the only other option would be do open Optimus's door and climb out, and Ratchet just...he couldn't.

Instead, he drove out of building, shifting his engines to run quieter than any human vehicle could hope to manage, just in case Optimus really was recharging. It was for the best, he reminded himself. It could have gone better if he'd had any sense of tact but in the end, the result would be the same. Optimus would be free to pursue someone more suitable and Ratchet...Ratchet would be able to focus on his work. For the best, he repeated as he headed towards his own quarters.

An urgent priority message stopped him and Ratchet braked silently as he read it. It was from Bumblebee, no specific detail just an earnest request for him to come, and Ratchet spared one longing thought towards a night of unbroken recharge. There was no rest for a medic, though, that was something he'd learned several millennia ago, and he turned around, taking one last moment to shove his current emotional state behind a particularly strong firewall.

He didn't have time for the emotional drama. He really didn't.

TBC


	28. Eternal Sunshine of a Sparkless Mind

Title: Eternal Sunshine of a Sparkless Mind  
Author: Keelywolfe  
Pairing(s):Sam/Bumblebee, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Optimus/Ratchet

* * *

Not very long ago, in either human or Autobot terms, Sam had expressed regret that Bumblebee had had to spend hours alone in his car form. Parked in the Witwicky's garage, parked in the lot at the school, Bee had spent a greater portion of his time waiting for Sam.

He hadn't minded much at the time. As he told Sam, he'd kept himself occupied. It would probably amaze the humans to consider what one could do with nearly unlimited bandwidth and processor speed, at least as far as humans considered such things. Not that he wouldn't have happily spent all that time with Sam but he recognized that was unreasonable and besides, it had given him the time to discover the joys of World of Warcraft.

That didn't mean that he had ever thought he'd be walking back to the Main Administration building, looking back on those days with longing. How it was that he and Sam were, for all intents and purposes, living together and yet somehow managed to see each other less than they had before had to defy several laws of known physics.

Oh, he saw Sam frequently enough; he had to, it was currently a medical necessity and Bee would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy those encounters. Sex was sex, and sex with Sam was bliss, the culmination of a dream that Bee had barely acknowledged existed. He'd adapted to human-style sexual intercourse with almost embarrassing swiftness, considering his distaste of organic couplings before, and with Sam it was everything he hadn't dared to hope for.

But sex was still sex, and that he could get easily enough. Sunstreaker was certainly proof of that and Bumblebee had always been a little horrified at how easily Sunstreaker had charmed his way into the arms and beds of other species. Chances were he'd have added humans to his long list if Optimus hadn't expressly forbidden it, on the grounds that it wouldn't enhance their chances of staying on this world for long if the humans thought that the 'bots were roaming the countryside, seducing their people in the night. Bee had seen a movie with a similar theme and as he recalled, it hadn't ended well.

Just tonight he had gone to Sam at the proper time and oh, he loved Sam like that. Warm and sleepy and sweetly willing. He'd barely opened his eyes before he smiled at Bee and opened his arms. Maybe sex was just sex, but when he was with Sam, sex felt a lot like love. It was no wonder that humans called it making love.

But the moment Sam had fallen asleep again, still pink-cheeked and curled up in the sweat-damp sheets, Bee had had to leave and head back to the main administrative building to jack back into the mainframe. Back in the Witwicky's garage he had spent time scanning for Decepticons but it was nothing compared to what he could do when he was directly connected. He was the best Autobot on Earth for the job and he knew it.

That didn't stop his regret. It didn't stop him from pressing a gentle kiss to Sam's cheek before he left him, again, and knowing that it was for a very good reason could only soothe so much of his guilt. He was protecting Sam and really, the whole planet with his searches.

But that couldn't stop him from knowing that this was not what humans liked in a relationship because it honestly wasn't what Autobots liked either. Snatched bits of time together and sexual encounters did not a stable relationship make and perhaps if he'd been spending more time with Sam in the first place, he wouldn't have doubted their relationship so much that he endangered his own life. Add that in with the fact that their sexual encounters _were_ a medical necessity and, well, Bumblebee could hardly blame Sam for his reaction. How could he possibly be angry at Sam for _any_of his reactions?

As it was, he was almost ridiculously relieved that Sam didn't blame them for what was happening to him. Even Ratchet's frequent reassurances that the Allspark's receptors weren't physically hurting Sam didn't change that they were there and that none of this would have happened if he hadn't bought a piece of crap Camaro. Their presence had caused this and even most mechs Bee knew wouldn't be inclined towards forgiveness for something so extreme.

Sam hadn't even considered that forgiveness might be needed, had begged Bumblebee for forgiveness for worrying him, and Bee had had to stop him, couldn't listen to that when he knew just how much they'd taken from Sam.

Perhaps things would be better once Sam's receptors were settled and able to draw energy from Sam. Not that Bumblebee minded assisting in that little detail but he couldn't help his uneasiness in that Sam was essentially being forced into sexual contact with him. That he wanted it and enjoyed it notwithstanding, if he had decided in that club that Bumblebee wasn't what he wanted, he still would have been left with few choices.

It worried Bee, constantly. Always, when he was scanning for any hint of Decepticon activity, one sector at a time in minute detail, there was a tiny section of his processors that just couldn't set Sam aside. He'd given up trying and just allowed it to quietly run in the background, replaying interactions with Sam, laughing conversations and teasing , and that was what Bee was missing. Sex he had but damned if he wasn't missing his friend. And now he was trudging his way through the city in his bipedal mode instead of racing there as a Camaro because it was easier for him to think this way, easier to focus on Sam.

Bee was so caught up in his thoughts that at first he didn't really hear it, the low grinding sound that passed for a 'bot's groan. The second low moan got more than his distracted notice and Bee paused, listening. It was less paranoia and more life experience that had him ready his weapons, snapping his mask down as he followed that quiet sound of pain. Between two buildings, hidden in the shadows, he saw another mech curled up, rocking slowly back and forth as he keened almost silently in pain. An infrared scan couldn't reveal color as the light spectrum did but Bee didn't need to see it to recognize this mech.

"Sideswipe?" Bee gasped, shoving back his battle mask as he dropped to his knees next to his friend. In reaction, Sideswipe flinched away from him, almost falling as he scrambled a few clumsy meters away, his optics narrowed to pinpoints of light in either fear or pain. He stopped as abruptly as he'd begun, optics widening in recognition.

"What happened?" Bee demanded, hands already sweeping over his friend as he checked for damage, ignoring his cringe, even as he scanned the area for danger. Sideswipe was one of their best warriors, second only to his brother, and he was heavily armored. If there was something here that had beaten him, it was highly unlikely that Bee would survive an encounter with it. Nothing came up on his scans, not a single unusual reading and Bee sent a quick, priority message to Ratchet, asking him to meet them here. He wasn't turning up any injury with touch or scans but that only meant that it was internal and that was far beyond Bee's capacity to heal.

Sideswipe hadn't spoken, only repeated that soft, wounded moan, half-leaning into Bumblebee's gentle touch and half- cringing into himself. This…this was not how Bee was accustomed to seeing his friend. He'd seen Sideswipe sitting with half his internals ripped to shreds, calming waiting for his turn to be treated when any other 'bot would have been snarling their pain to the stars.

"Sideswipe?" Bee asked softly, almost sagging in relief as Ratchet sent him a terse reply that he'd be there quickly. Wildly, Sideswipe turned towards him, optics flaring and narrowing in unmistakable panic. That was enough to make Bumblebee wary; a panicked 'bot wasn't always a logical one and Sideswipe was way out of Bee's league. A little angry tussling with Sunstreaker was one thing but in a deadly serious battle, either of the twins could kill Bumblebee with relative ease.

"I made a mistake," Sideswipe whispered frantically, oblivious to Bumblebee's sudden nervousness. "And he shut me out. I can't hear him, I can't feel him. He shut me out. He shut me out."

No need to ask who he was. Bee was way out of his range, here, and Sideswipe's pained keening was growing in in volume and any minute now they were going to attract the attention of the humans. With a silent apology in the direction of his sleeping lover, Bee abandoned propriety and offered a light wireless link to Sideswipe, wincing a little as he all but lurched into the connection, sending soothing his way._-panic/alone/fear/alone/alone/fear/alone-_ seared over him.

_-Not alone-,_ Bee soothed. _-Not alone, I'm right here-._

_notalone?/ notalone/notalone/grateful/notalone/_

_-Not alone-_, Bee repeated firmly, gently stroking whatever of Sideswipe he could reach. His own unease was fading in light of their link. Sideswipe seemed more like a terrified sparkling than a threat right now and he let his affection for his friend show, sending it through their light mental link.

_-Not alone/not alone/safe-_ calmer now, relaxing into the gentleness of Bee's mental touch. _-Bee?-_

"It's me," Bee said aloud, trying to keep their connection as light as possible. It was disturbingly intimate to have Sideswipe's emotional state battering at his firewalls. "I'm here. What happened?"

"He shut me out," Sideswipe said miserably. "I was stupid, I thought…I hurt him and he shut me out."

Hurt Sunstreaker? Somehow, Bee had his doubts about that. "Why are you here? No, forget that. Why didn't you tell Ratchet he was shutting you out completely? Or Optimus?"

Laughter, just this side of hysterical and Sideswipe shuddered, their armor scraping lightly. "They'd just yell at him again. He always gets blamed. But it's my fault, mine, I was so stupid, Bee. "

Stupid to let Sunstreaker into his head again but Bee kept that thought very, very quiet, kept their link very light. It was strange enough as it was. He and Sideswipe were close friends but they hadn't often been this close. Only recently had they had any real intimate contact and that had all been in the name of training, helping a friend. Even knowing that many Autobots were very casual about intimacy didn't make Bumblebee feel much better about it. He and Sam had only just started making light connections and that had been a wonder in and of itself, one he'd never expected to be able to experience with a human lover.

"You need to go recharge," Bee said, pushing aside his own discomfort. Sideswipe was a very good friend and he knew what Sam had done with him, hadn't even needed to forgive them for it, but he still knew.

"No!" Sideswipe shook his head frantically. "No, I don't want to be alone, I don't." Then, incongruously, "I'm on punishment detail, I'm not supposed to recharge yet—"

"I'll talk to Optimus," Bee hushed him and Sideswipe keened softly, pushing into Bee's gently stroking hands. The similarity made a memory surface in his processors, of the three of them in Sam's bed, Sam touching Bee, following Sideswipe's murmured instructions. There had been ghostly echo through Sideswipe's link to him of pleasure that had to be shared in order for Sideswipe to assist them, but Sideswipe had never taken advantage of it, had sought relief with his brother instead.

Bee drew air into his vents and slowly let it out, barely believing that he was going to offer this but Sunstreaker would never have gotten to Sideswipe if he hadn't tried to help him and Sam. And he didn't think Sam would mind. Jealousy felt petty in the sight of Sideswipe's all-too-real pain. "Maybe when you're off punishment detail, you can come visit me and Sam."

The offer in it was implicit. To his surprise and quiet relief, Sideswipe only chuckled, weakly, but it was a rational sound. "Thank you, but no. I don't think that'll get me back on his good side."

"He doesn't have a good side," Bee said angrily. Sunstreaker may have saved his life, had certainly saved Sam's but that didn't make Bumblebee _like_ him.

"If that were true, you'd be dead." Softly.

It was clear that there was no talking any sense into Sideswipe when he was like this.

Bumblebee was saved from having to come up to a reply to that when Ratchet pulled up, faster than Bee had expected which meant he hadn't been recharging when Bee sent the message. Come to think of it, Ratchet had probably been shorting himself on rest for a little while now. He'd been keeping himself holed up in the infirmary with a dozen different projects before the virus incident and Bee doubted he'd gotten much recharge during or after. Add in Sam and Mikaela's late night excursion and now he was overseeing Sam's punishment...

Ratchet would be the first to bitch and moan at any of them over their physical condition and he'd do it until the return of Primus, but he did have a bad tendency to forget that he was a mortal himself.

With a quick moment to transform, Ratchet was leaning over Sideswipe, his large hands gentle as he lightly touched and probed, the soft glare of scanners from his fingertips. Sideswipe quivered in response, curling tighter into himself.

_-You found him like this?—_Ratchet asked Bee.

_-Kind of. He was…-_ It was easier just to send Ratchet a video, Sideswipe moaning low and rocking.

"Sideswipe?" Ratchet asked softly. A violent shiver wracked Sideswipe. "Sides? It's all right."

"No," Sideswipe shook his head frantically. "No, I don't want you, you'll yell at him. No, go away, I don't want you, I want Bee—"

Ratchet made a soft hushing sound, "I'm not yelling at anyone."

"Don't yell at him," Sideswipe didn't seem to have heard. "Please. It was my fault, I was stupid, I was cruel. I didn't mean to be, I didn't, but he won't listen. Please."

He rambled on, whimpering and shaking while Ratchet ran a soothing hand down his arm, catching his hand. "Come on, you'll feel better after some recharge. Bee, give me a hand, here. He's a little big for me to drag around like a teddy bear."

Gently, Bumblebee helped pull Sideswipe to his feet, draping his arm over Bee's shoulder as Ratchet did the same. The discrepancies in their height made it awkward but between the two of them, they managed to get Sideswipe to the infirmary, Bee keeping up a constant murmur of reassurance through their light link. He knew the moment Ratchet noticed it, caught the medics sharp look but ignored it. If Sideswipe could engage in intimacy with him and Sam for training purposes, then surely this would fall under a medically necessary interface.

Once they had him settled on one of the exam tables, Bee stepped back and let Ratchet do his thing, watched as Sideswipe relaxed abruptly and their link cut out with a squawk of mental static. Medically induced recharge, Bee realized and winced.

"Is he all right?" Bee asked, a little uncertainly. Sideswipe had a few issues, who didn't, and his main issue was bright yellow and a pain in the ass but still, he'd always been one of the most stable 'bots that Bee knew. He'd known Sideswipe almost since his spark giving and seeing him lying on the table, unconscious and internally frail, was unnerving.

Ratchet's demeanor wasn't helping much, either. He had a long-standing reputation of being from the sadist's school of medicine and he usually only softened when someone was really hurt. That he'd helped Sideswipe back here instead of telling him to get his ass up and straighten his back struts was definitely a glimpse at his softer side.

"He'll be fine," Ratchet said brusquely, but his hands were still gentle as he ran scans. "He just needs a good recharge and a long diagnostic scan to settle his parameters."

"He said Sunstreaker was locking him out," Bee offered, hesitantly.

"I noticed. That's an interesting change," Ratchet was still touching Sideswipe, lightly stroking his arm, not even scanning anymore and that was so unusual Bee was close to asking if _he_ was all right. If Sunstreaker was acting out of character then Ratchet was acting positively weird. It wasn't as if Sideswipe could even feel the touch while he was, for all intents and purposes, unconscious.

Then again, maybe this was the way Ratchet always acted around unconscious mechs. Stranger things had happened.

"He'll be fine," Ratchet repeated. "he just needs a chance to get used to the silence in his head again. A spark twin won't die without their other half but he won't be in for a pleasant time of it. It's similar to getting over a stimulant addiction."

Bumblebee winced. Not that he knew what that felt like himself but he'd seen a few 'bots before who'd become addicted to overclocking their processors. If that was what Sideswipe was going through, it only made his dislike of Sunstreaker go up yet another notch. Primus, there were Decepticons that Bee liked better than Sunstreaker—and there was a good question in that.

"Why isn't Sunstreaker falling over?" Bee asked. He knew he was lingering but Sideswipe was his friend and for a brief moment, Bee had been tempted to offer something more.

_Sam had had something more, just a little more, but to a human, sexual encounters often had an emotional level, a deeper implied intimacy than Autobots considered of simi relationships…_

That earned him a loud snort. "Sunstreaker is used to his spark being in less than optimal condition. Besides, if he was a little more grumpy than usual, who would notice?"

"Point taken," Bee conceded. Suddenly, he felt very tired, even though he'd had a decent amount of recharge. "This is all his fault," Bee snapped, not bothering to qualify who _he_ was. "How can he treat Sideswipe like this?"

"You have no idea what happened," Ratchet pointed out. His attention was still on Sideswipe, running another scan and frowning at the results. "Sideswipe made the choice to allow Sunstreaker back into his processors. It's not like Sunstreaker forced him."

"You don't know that."

Ratchet stilled then turned to look at Bee, pointing a finger at him. "Bumblebee, you had better consider exactly what it is that you are saying."

"I am!" Bee retorted "Sideswipe hasn't been with Sunstreaker like that in ages! He was over it! And now they are suddenly back together with no good reason."

"I believe you and I know exactly the reason they are back together," Ratchet said heavily and with every bit of self-blame that Bee would have expected. His own guilt was a sharp presence in his processor, unpleasant and strong.

"Even if that's true, Sunstreaker took advantage of the situation and now he's deliberating shutting Sideswipe out to hurt him!"

"And yet, unless Sideswipe files a formal protest, the circumstances don't matter a bit," Ratchet said calmly. He turned back to Sideswipe, whose usually brilliant red armor looked dull, as though he hadn't been taking proper care of himself. Ratchet seemed to notice the same thing and he picked up a polishing cloth, gently buffing at the scuffs. "He hasn't, which implies that it was his choice to get involved with his brother again."

"I refuse to believe he chose something like that." A 'bot would have to be crazy to choose a relationship like that when there were plenty of other partners to choose from. Spark bonded or not, Sideswipe had other options. Sunstreaker had to have forced him, somehow, a threat or a goad. There had to be a reason.

"By the sake of Primus, Bumblebee, not all of us get to drive off into the sunset with our perfect mate," Ratchet said flashing him an exasperated look over his shoulder.

"Yeah? Is that why you've been staying over at Optimus's quarters?" Bee snapped and regretted it instantly. By Primus, that was cruel, everyone knew how badly Ratchet missed Wheeljack and his relationship with Optimus, though it had been one of the most fiercely gossiped about topics since it had begun, was one least likely to be mentioned to Ratchet. Unless he brought it up first, a 'bot did not mention it to Ratchet, or they might wake up from their next surgery with their head on backwards.

Ratchet went very still. "Get out."

"Ratchet—"

"I said, _get out_, soldier." Deadly quiet.

That was an order, no question, and Bumblebee slumped out, unspoken words of apology frozen in his voice modulator. Damn and blast it all, this day was not working out according to his schedule. So far he had had to abandon Sam to sleep alone and had two friends who were deeply hurt by his own actions. For the first time in eons, Bumblebee gave in to the reckless urge to ignore his duty schedule. Scanning for Decepticon activity could wait a little while. In the mood he was in, there was a chance he might miss something anyway, his current level of self-loathing did not make for good focus.

For a moment, he considered going back to Sam and that was tempting, curling up against his warm, sleepy form, but no, in the mood he was in if they connected in the slightest bit Sam would get the full effect of his anger and that was the last thing Bee wanted to share.

Instead, he sent a quick message to Ironhide instead and was gratified at the quick reply. He could use the target practice and there were a few practice drones that were going to be fit for the scrap yard when he was done.

* * *

The humans who visited Autobot City were always terribly impressed with it. The towers gleamed in the full sunlight, silvery spires topped with satellite dishes and various scanning equipment and from a distance, it did look like a bustling city. Humans and Autobots alike, working together as they built a new home for the disenfranchised.

What the humans didn't know was that the spires were relatively empty, a cheap, shiny metal casing that held only their shield array and surveillance equipment. None of them were sturdy enough to house more than the lightest of the Autobots and their true housing would have been dismal shacks on Cybertron, little more than shelter from the elements. For all the glitter and wax they'd thrown over the supposed city, it was hardly more than a prison camp, only they were allowing the humans to keep them here, bowing down to little the bleeders as submissively as pets.

To Sunstreaker, it was a pathetic attempt to rebuild a lost civilization, a destroyed home that none of them had seen in a millennia. Let other 'bots wax poetically about their new home. Sunstreaker was ever a realist and if this was a sign of the humans respect, this cluster of hovels set together in the unwanted wastelands of this world, then he thought they should already be heading off-world and let the bleeders fight off the ragged leftover Decepticons on their own. Let them live up to Sunstreaker's nickname for them and _bleed_ for their world instead of expecting their prisoners to do it for them.

It was an opinion he kept to himself. There were few Autobots who cared to speak with him and none at all on this world, save his brother, to whom Sunstreaker cared to listen. He had once commented that the only reason he'd joined the Autobots was that their color scheme was better. His comrades in arms had chuckled, with him for once, but he suspected if they had realized he had been serious, they may have been less amused.

So instead he sat by himself, waiting with patience that would probably astonish many, but not Sideswipe, never Sideswipe, until the smaller yellow 'bot left the infirmary, his head down in visible shame.

Pathetic. Sunstreaker very firmly believed a 'bot should own his words and Bumblebee had said nothing that wasn't true.

But that didn't mean Sunstreaker was above probing the wound. Softly, he said aloud, "That wasn't very nice of you, Little Bee. I thought you liked Ratchet."

Bee stiffened, shoulders going tight and to Sunstreaker's dark amusement, he heard the sharp whine of a fan turning on as Bee struggled with his temper. He managed to keep it this time, striding away far quicker than he'd left the infirmary and Sunstreaker kept his mouth shut until he turned a corner, vanishing from sight although his scanners tracked the scout a little longer.

"That's right, run back to your little pet," Sunstreaker murmured, pushing up to his feet with a groan of protesting hydraulics. He'd been sitting in the same position for some time. Colder, and to no one at all, Sunstreaker added. "And stay away from mine."

When he pushed opened the infirmary door, and hadn't he been here long enough after that damned virus, Ratchet didn't even look up. "You're one to talk about being nice."

Sunstreaker raised his hands defensively, pure innocence in his voice. "I've been nothing but nice all week. Ask Ironhide."

"I'd rather ask Sideswipe, but I can't at the moment, now can I." Ratchet could always be counted on for his acerbic nature and Sunstreaker took a great deal of delight in hearing it, particularly when delivered in that rich voice. Leaning against one of the exam tables, Sunstreaker took a moment to appreciate the elegant lines of Ratchet's form.

Sideswipe was gorgeous and why wouldn't he be? He and Sunstreaker were twins, and he refused to settle for anything less than stunning. But Ratchet was undeniably attractive and if he hadn't been bonded to Sideswipe, (and if Ratchet hadn't been in the process of getting himself welded to Optimus) he'd certainly be tempted. Their age difference didn't bother Sunstreaker in the slightest; age and wisdom came hand in hand and in his experience, older 'bots could come a _lot_. He'd bet that Ratchet was very pretty in overload and it was no wonder Optimus was keeping him busy in that regard.

Just a little flirtation could still be fun and it was tempting, so tempting, but…Mmm, no. It had been a very long time since he'd done anything with a 'bot other than Sideswipe and as amusing as the outcome would surely be, Sunstreaker had really had enough of being on Optimus's shit list for a little while.

Instead, he turned his attention to his brother, scowling at his darkened optics and still form. "How is he?"

"You'd know better than me," Ratchet retorted crossly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not right now, I wouldn't."

"Mm, yes, that's the problem."

Sunstreaker snorted air through his vents. "No, it isn't. He's only on the fritz because instead of recharging he's been hammering me with messages that I won't open. I don't want to talk to him right now."

"And why is that?"

Sunstreaker gave him a thin smile. "It's personal, _doctor_."

"Your personal problems become my problem when this happens." Ratchet gestured fiercely at Sideswipe's still form. "And it becomes Optimus's problem when one of his soldiers is out of commission. If we were attacked right now we'd be down one of our most formidable combatants and because of what? A little lover's spat?"

_You would know about Optimus's problems, now wouldn't you._ But Sunstreaker kept that thought to himself. It was one thing to be on Optimus's bad side; Ratchet was an entirely different game and not one that was healthy to play. Better that he stay on the side of merely irritated.

"He'll be fine after a recharge and we both know it," Sunstreaker said instead. Almost hesitantly, he reached out and stroked a hand down his brother's arm and he couldn't say _why_ he felt hesitant, any more than he could explain why he'd allowed his brother a direct interface rather than settling for a simi-style coupling. He didn't want Sideswipe in his head, it

_Hurt, I can't be what you want, I can't, please don't leave me, please, please_

-was pathetic, seeing his brother's simpering thoughts so closely.

"Is he in a medical recharge?" Sunstreaker asked, softly. So still, optics shuttered and dark and for one dark, crazed moment Sunstreaker thought that Ratchet had lied to him, that his brother was dead, cold and sparkless, and Ratchet was a strong 'bot, no question, strong and heavily armored but he was nowhere near Sunstreaker's equal in a fight. It would take him less than a nanoclick to sever his lying head from his shoulders and lay it dripping at Optimus's feet—

With a jolt, Sunstreaker reeled back, staggered by his own processor. Sideswipe was alive, of course he was, he could feel it in his _spark_. He closed his optics for a moment and gathered himself, reopened them to see Ratchet's concerned face near to his own.

"Yes. Three hours," Ratchet said finally, and Sunstreaker belatedly remembered he'd asked a question. The medic was still eyeing him with no small amount of worry and that was no real surprise to anyone who paid any attention. That sharp acerbic nature was as brilliant a show as a supernova and Ratchet's very real concern only added to his attractiveness, shaped the lines of his face into something exotic and lovely-

Sunstreaker snorted and shook his head, elbowing Ratchet aside a little rudely as he stepped back to his brother. Dreams of seduction and murder all in a few minutes, my, he was in a mood today. Severing himself from Sideswipe's spark was affecting him more than he had first thought.

Touching his brother was soothing his frayed nerves, stroking his fingers along the smooth lines of Sideswipe's armor. His brother, always lovely, always vulnerable, his nature as sweet as high-grade energon and Sunstreaker was always darkly amused at the contrast to his own toxic nature.

_I know what I am, brother. I know._

"I'll sit with him for a little while," Sunstreaker told Ratchet quietly, his optics on his brother. "That should help."

Unspoken was that it would certainly help him, too. Sideswipe was annoying honorable but he was also very calming, a gentle balm to Sunstreaker's spark.

"Hnnn," Ratchet grumbled. "Fine. He didn't seem particularly happy to see me the first time. I don't supposed you would be much worse." He started towards the door before he added, "I'm going to get a few hours of recharge myself and before you two think about killing each other when he wakes up, I monitor everything in here and I am right around the corner. Mess up my infirmary and you'll wish for death."

"And how is Optimus?" Sunstreaker said with saccharine sweetness. "I haven't seen him since my dressing down earlier this week."

"Your well-deserved dressing down. I saw what you did to that sensor array." But Sunstreaker didn't think he'd imagined Ratchet's sudden stiffness, nor his evasion of the question. Interesting.

"Yes, yes," Sunstreaker waved a dismissive hand. "I would have been here sooner but I was just finishing with it when I felt him arc out. It would be Bumblebee who found him."

Ratchet leaned against the doorframe and shook his head. "I can't fathom what you have against him. You were all sparked very close together."

It didn't escape Sunstreaker's notice that Ratchet didn't question what Bumblebee had against him. "What does it matter? I have one brother, I don't need him."

"You mean Sideswipe has a brother and you don't want him to have another." Shrewdly.

"Yes. I do." Sunstreaker expected Ratchet to leave them and when the sound of heavy footsteps failed to register, he looked back at the medic, optics narrowed. Surely he wasn't having second thoughts about leaving?

But Ratchet only met his gaze steadily. "After I get some recharge, I want you to come to the infirmary for a full scan."

"What?" Sunstreaker stepped back, shocked. "No!"

"That was not a request. I've seen Sam and Bumblebee several times to verify that the virus did no permanent damage."

"I can do my own-"

"Or I can just do it now," Ratchet interrupted smoothly. "Your choice."

He would, too, and Sunstreaker could fight Ratchet off if he wanted to kill him but a medical scan that was under orders? A little flabbergasted, Sunstreaker blurted out, "I've been fine all week, I told you, why would you want to waste time on a deep scan?"

"Because I could count on one hand the times we've had a decent conversation, even if I had lost three fingers."

"So because I am feeling chatty today you think I might be crazy?"

"You were already crazy. Your chattiness is making me afraid that you're sane," Ratchet said bluntly, his voice mod as dry as the desert that surrounded them.

Sunstreaker gaped at him and then suddenly laughed. "All right. Do your scan. Later."

"Later," Ratchet agreed warily. They stared at each other a moment longer, silent challenge in the air between them but in the end, Sunstreaker looked away, down to the still, oh, so still form of his brother. He heard the door open and before it could swing shut, he called out, softly.

"Tell Optimus I said hello."

No response. Chuckling softly, Sunstreaker settled down next to his brother, stroking his arm, his chest, his touches light and gentle as he waited in the overwhelming silence for Sideswipe, his brother, his lover, the holder of half his spark, to wake up.

TBC


	29. To Serve and Protect

**Title:** To Serve and Protect  
**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Summary**: A continuation of the 'human' series, which are in order:

Notes: This chapter is a little on the short side but this section just didn't fit anywhere else. Next chapter will be nice and long with all our boys back in it. ^_^

I want to thank everyone for all the wonderful comments and the continued interest in this story! I know it was on hiatus for some time and I'm happy to be back working on it! I hope everyone continues to enjoy it!

* * *

The human sections and the Autobot ones in Autobot City weren't exactly segregated, Mikaela knew; sure, they were separate from each other but that was a fact borne of necessity, not out of any nastiness. Autobots might be able to share quarters with the humans, if they were content to spend all their recharge time in the vehicle forms but it was just easier to make separate barracks for the two groups. In both cases, Officers got their own quarters, the regular soldiers bunked two and three to a unit, and the odd few stayed with the humans they were assigned to protect. Bumblebee, Ironhide...Prowl.

Mikaela took a moment to glance up from the jeep wheel that she was realigning, eying her…what? Protector? Boyfriend? Warden? Who knew. She liked Prowl, enough to let stay in her quarters in more than a professional capacity, but she really didn't know him well enough to understand him much.

Right now he was standing on the opposite side of the garage in his holo form, his real body parked outside. It made her smile to look at him. Not his posture although that was distinctive enough. Prowl had a stance that carried through no matter which form he was in and if he suddenly decided to become a blond surfer boy, Mikaela was pretty sure she'd know it was him. Arms crossed over his chest, standing straight and tall as he checked out the area and she was damned sure that was what he was doing. Scanning and protecting were his standard routine.

No, what was getting her right now was his sunglasses. Where he'd found the specs for a pair of Ray-Bans she didn't know, maybe on the internet, but those combined with his dark shirt and pants was giving her serious 'men in black' vibes. Only this time, the guy in the suit _was_ the alien. Not only was her life a movie, it was a movie with Will Smith in it. She supposed there were worse things; they could be living through Independence Day.

Prowl probably knew she'd been looking at him from the start but only now did he raise a curious eyebrow in a silent little question. Yes?

She shook her head and went back to work on the wheel. The camber on it was completely fucked and if she could help out in any way, Mikaela was more than ready to step up.

Not that anyone had asked.

Most of the humans that lived here were military, an as-yet unnamed classified elite force that were training to deal with the very real Decepticon threat. That much even she knew. Then there was her and Sam, and Sam's parents, and no one seemed to know much about what to do with the civilians. She knew that Sam's dad had been hanging out with Ironhide whenever he was on patrol and she'd spent some time with Sam's mom but between Sam being hurt, the clusterfuck that had been their little road trip and now Sam's punishment, she hadn't spent any time with anyone even close to her age.

She had been the one to find the human mechanic, a burly old guy with the unique name of Smith who had career man written all over him, and offered to help out. To his credit, he'd kept his eyes on hers and never so much as glanced at anything in the southern regions. Maybe he was firmly on the 'don't ask, don't tell' side of the equation.

He'd been hesitant to put her to work, obviously more concerned with civilian than girl but after a little persuasion and Prowl's quiet support, he'd waved her into the garage and put her to work. It'd only taken a couple of oil changes for Smith to decide she wasn't going to set anything on fire and he'd left her to it, offering a grunt whenever she let him know she was finished and terse directions on what to do next.

It was soothing, in a way, something to do with her hands, and most of these vehicles needed a lot of just the basic maintenance. It seemed to her that the government believed there was a serious threat but they didn't want to do much about it. Probably wouldn't until the next time the Decepticons took out half a city. Maybe she wasn't exactly in the know but she wasn't blind; no one seemed to be throwing much money towards this project.

With a grunt of effort, she finally pulled the distorted tie-rod out, tossed it aside with a loud clang, and she was just about to start installing a new one when she heard the deliberate scuff of a shoe behind her. Prowl was unnaturally quiet when he moved and whether that was because he was using a holo or it was just him, she wasn't sure, but thinking of Bumblebee made her suspect it was a Prowl thing. After scaring the hell out of her once, he'd made a point of making a sound before he got close to her and her heart sure appreciated it.

"Mikaela, you have been working for four point two-five hours," Prowl said in his quiet voice. "I believe you should take a break."

"After I finish this," she said agreeably, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm. She was pretty filthy too, a shower wouldn't be a bad idea.

Prowl didn't move. "Your blood sugar levels are low."

Maybe he wasn't a warden, maybe he was more like someone's mom. "I'm fine."

That got her silence but she bet if she turned around to look at him, he'd be wearing his 'I am displeased and I will get my way' expression.

She didn't grin but she figured he could hear it in her voice as she added, "As soon as I get this done, we'll go grab something to eat."

A long silence and then, "Very well."

Prowl never sounded smug but she recognized that tone pretty well. It meant he'd gotten his way. Mikaela rolled her eyes and got back to it. Men, it seemed, were all the same, even asexual ones from other planets. She thought he'd gone back to his spot near the door and startled a little when he crouched next to her, giving him a wary look. Did he actually want to help?

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, softly.

Guess not. She shrugged, tightening the bolts into place. "Why not? I had to do something."

She thought she'd kept the bitterness out of her voice pretty well but if Prowl was one thing, it was observant. He tipped his sunglasses down, looked at her with his damnably calm eyes. "No, you did not. So why?"

"Sam is doing something." One of the bolts was a little rusty and she couldn't move it without stripping it. She snagged a well-used can of WD-40 and gave it a spray, waited for it to soak in a little. "Sam is working with Ratchet. Sideswipe is working with Optimus and even Sunstreaker is working on crap with Ironhide. Everyone is doing something so why the hell shouldn't I?"

And okay, maybe that was a little belligerent but she couldn't help it. Resentment that had been simmering below the surface was boiling up now. They had been punished. All of them had snuck out, all of them had gone to the city, Sam had nearly been killed and it had been her idea from the beginning. And now Sam was working his butt off to pay for his mistakes and so were the twins.

When she'd talked to Optimus, he had been gently informed about various rules on base. Ratchet had given her a quick scan and a curt but clean bill of health. It hadn't been fun but it had been nothing like the speech that Sam had described in his email. She hadn't been on the receiving end of too many 'I'm Very Disappointed' speeches in her life but she'd had a couple. Didn't explain why it was bothering her to be missing out on this one, but it was. It was.

"They didn't punish me." Mikaela almost didn't realize she'd spoken aloud. The bolts were all tightened into place and she released the jack, let the jeep settle back on its wheels. A lift would have made this easier but the garage only had one and Smith was using it.

Prowl leaned against the repaired jeep, propping one foot on a tire and even as weirdly pissed off as she was, she had to admire the liquid shift of his posture, from stern and straight to lithe. She knew plenty of humans who didn't move that well.

"No, they didn't," Prowl said at last, in his cool, bone-dry voice. "You are very effective at punishing yourself."

"Whatever," Mikaela muttered, wiping her greasy hands ineffectively on an equally dirty rag. She had a date with a bar of lava soap before she was eating anything. A soft touch on her shoulder stopped her and she looked up at Prowl, his sunglasses gone now as he regarded her seriously.

"Mikaela," he said softly, "The reason Optimus didn't punish you is that I told him that I had already spoken to you and that I would take care of any punishment. It is not that they value Sam more than you. On the contrary, he had already asked me to send you along with Sam. I was the one who requested otherwise."

She blinked up at him, digesting that, and something that had been too-tight in her chest for days slowly relaxed. They did…they hadn't…she shook her head. But Prowl hadn't punished her at all, he'd just followed her around until she'd ended up here. "So what you're really saying is that Optimus shouldn't trust you to handle my work detail."

Prowl's voice was very dry but his smirk was anything but, and his hands low on her hips as he pulled her towards him were as pointed as an engraved invitation. "As I said, you are very effective at punishing yourself."

Smith was on the other side of the garage. All the doors to the outside were closed. "I'm all greasy," Mikaela murmured, even as she tipped her head up.

"I don't care."

Prowl's lips were warm, his tongue as lithe as the rest of him and when he pulled her down to the floor, his mouth sliding lower and lower, he proved it until she was covering her mouth with her grease-stained hands to stifle her whimpers, God, so good, and she trusted him, _trusted_ him to keep scanning the area and whether it was Decepticons or just Smith checking up on her, Prowl would keep her safe.

tbc


	30. Synonymous to an Intermission

******Title:** Synonymous to an Intermission**  
****Author:** Keelywolfe

**Pairing(s):** Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus

* * *

Recharging was not the same as humans thought of as sleep. Autobots were either online and alert, or they were recharging and they could shift from one to the other in seconds with none of the drowsy confusion that humans had to deal with. The only exceptions to the rule were in the case of injury or medically-induced recharge and Sideswipe's processors informed him that he had not been injured.

Not injured but still slowly resurfacing from the equivalent of sedation, his reaction times delayed as severally as if he were trying to move through water. It wasn't pleasant and Sideswipe managed to make a sound, a tiny keen of discomfort and confusion, terrifyingly vulnerable in a time when vulnerability was tantamount to a death sentence.

Instantly, there was a hand on his own, gently stroking his sensor-laden fingers, soothing him, but if they were speaking, he still couldn't hear it, his audio sensors were still offline, along with his optics and Sideswipe made another distressed, pained sound that he couldn't hear. Not injured, there was no sign of soreness from repairs so what had happened?

The hand on his own squeezed gently and Sideswipe couldn't help a flinch, slowly pushing through the syrupy-thickness of his own confusion. That couldn't possibly be Ratchet and he was the only medic on the base right now so who-

_-Relax. It's just me—_

The touch of his brother's thoughts made him flinch harder, withdrawing physically and mentally, firewalls snapping hard into place. Sunstreaker let him go, his fingers barely lingering before he pulled back.

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," Sunstreaker said, aloud, waiting just until Sideswipe could hear him. His voice mod was weary, something that Sideswipe was not used to hearing from his brother. His optics flicked online, blurred vision until he focused and when Sideswipe turned his head he found his brother sitting next to him where he was laying on an exam table. The infirmary, he realized, still trying to clear the static in his processors. He hadn't been injured…had he?

"What happened?" Sideswipe slurred out in Cybertronian, still beyond his English language module.

Sunstreaker propped his chin up on one hand, studying him with half-shuttered optics. "You know, I think I like you like this. You look...charmingly befuddled. It's rather attractive."

The long stroke of a single finger down his arm made him blink but he managed not to flinch this time, only stared at his brother with the same befuddlement that Sunstreaker was enjoying still coiling his processors. Why was Sunstreaker touching him? What was...ah. He hissed air into his vents as his short-term memory finally came online and he remembered…Sam, the Decepticons, Sunstreaker...

"I'm sorry," Sideswipe gasped out, abruptly snatching up Sunstreaker's hand to hold him there as his brother's optics widened in surprise. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, Sunny-"

"Oh, please, do stop," Sunstreaker snapped out but he didn't pull away, let Sideswipe manhandle him closer so that he could cling to his brother. It felt so _good_ to touch him, the growing anxiety and pain that his distance had caused easing. Fearfully, Sideswipe opened a private channel, extending it to Sunstreaker even as he cringed, expecting it to be harshly rebuffed.

Instead, Sunstreaker sighed irritably, a gust of air over Sideswipe's chassis and he accepted it, embracing him very lightly through their mental link. His firewalls were firmly in place and all Sideswipe could feel were surface emotions, but Sunstreaker was _there_, right where he should be, his mental touch equal parts sweet and roiling dark, and his thoughts were irritated and exhausted and...Ratchet?

"Only you could be here for me and still be admiring Ratchet's framework," Sideswipe muttered, still too tired to do more than feel mildly exasperated.

"Have to be blind not to see it," Sunstreaker smirked at him. "And my optics are excellent, thank you." He shifted a little closer, stroking a hand idly down Sideswipe's chest armor, the black paint of his fingers a sharp contrast to Sideswipe's own red finish. "And I'm sure you're just as thrilled to feel me thinking about someone else right now as I was then."

Sharp guilt sliced through Sideswipe and it didn't matter to him just now that Sunstreaker had done far worse in the past. _He_ didn't do things like that. "I'm sor—"

"Just stop," Sunstreaker interrupted impatiently. "I _was_ pissed about that, don't you dare think I wasn't..."

"I wasn't really thinking about her, I swear, it was about _you_." And he kept both memories locked firmly away right now. If Sunstreaker was in a forgiving mood it would be very foolish indeed to ruin it.

"You have a very odd way of showing it," Sunstreaker looked away, moodily, and when he tried to pull away, Sideswipe let him, bewildered. "But that wasn't why I cut you off."

Sideswipe still felt a little fuzzy in the processors but he was aware enough to recognize that was completely unlike Sunstreaker. His brother did things or he didn't, occasionally cruel things and even rarer, brilliant, brave things, but unpleasant or otherwise, he didn't explain why he did things. Sunstreaker spoke a great deal but he didn't really _say_ much, to anyone.

"Then why?" Sideswipe asked, hesitantly, his optics on his brother's scowling face.

There was a hiss of hydraulics as Sunstreaker stood and Sideswipe could only stare as his brother withdrew. There was no other way to describe it; his odd, hunched posture, his internal firewalls seamlessly tight, bristling with tension. They were still connected but the trickle of emotion that Sideswipe felt was so tiny as to be nonexistent. The world wide web offered more of a connection than his brother was right now.

Sunstreaker shifted restlessly, his optics shuttered to pinpoints of light. "You know that I'm fucked up," he said finally, his voice modulator raw with emotions that Sideswipe couldn't feel. "Everyone does. I'm surprised Optimus doesn't have a handbook to give everyone. I'd have my own chapter, Sunstreaker is fucked up, please don't mess with him."

"I'll be sure to recommend it if we start a handbook," Sideswipe said automatically, hesitant teasing. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated, he would have said what he liked and took his lumps for it but Sunstreaker didn't even seem to notice.

He only stood there, his frame stiff with tension and his vents streaming air, a sharp indicator of his stress, before he finally said with his usual cold bluntness, "What no one seems to realize is that I know that I am fucked up. I know it."

"I realize it," Sideswipe said, softly, already reaching for his...no. Sunstreaker had accused him of wanting the word brother to be true and he had been right. How much easier would it be if Sunstreaker was only his brother, as humans conceived of the word. His twin, his physical mirror image. But he wasn't and simplicity would never be theirs. Sunstreaker was the other half of his spark and he supposed that soulmate would really be a better description.

Suddenly, that seemed so much easier to accept than it had only days ago, weeks, a century. It sucked, it was equal parts agony and pleasure, but for whatever it was worth, Sunstreaker was his and he couldn't help but love him.

That revelation hadn't made its way past Sunstreaker's viciously tight firewalls. He made a staticky hissing sound, flinching away from Sideswipe's offered hand. "I know. That's why I cut you off. Ever since—"

"Ever since?"

"Ever since that human touched me, I've felt strange," Sunstreaker confessed, his optics flickering around the infirmary a little wildly, focusing anywhere but on Sideswipe.

"The virus?" Sideswipe sat up with a wince, alarmed.

Finally, Sunstreaker looked at him and that scorn was much more like what he would expect. "No, idiot," he snorted. "When the boy kissed me. I have the same...the same impulses, but I can control them better, a little. It's easier when we have our bond open, though." He tipped his head up, shuttering his optics closed. "I shouldn't have cut you off the way I did, it wasn't much more pleasant for me. I'm sorry."

Sideswipe decided he'd worry about the shock of his brother actually apologizing to him later. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

Sunstreaker gave him another scathing look. "Because I know you, too, idiot! You'd get your hopes up that this is going to make me better...you never want me for who I am. I may be fucked up but that doesn't mean I'm broken or that I want to change," he gestured at himself, gleaming yellow armor encasing his spark, his memory, everything that was his brother. "This is what I am, Sideswipe. I can't change that. Not even for you."

"All right."

Sunstreaker blinked, his hands sagging down to his sides. "All right?"

"All right," Sideswipe agreed calmly. "But that means you don't get to be angry when I get upset over certain things. Like when you fuck around with any organic that takes your fancy."

A smirk. "No promises."

Before Sideswipe could come up with a properly offended response to that, Sunstreaker startled him by stepping past his reaching hands and into his arms, climbing up on the table. It gave a faint groan from their combined weight as Sunstreaker straddled him easily, too carefully to scratch either of their paint jobs.

"Interface with me," Sunstreaker murmured, a low growl of sound that made heat rise in the connection between them.

"Wha...here?" Sideswipe squeaked out.

"Yeah. Right here," Sunstreaker dropped a couple of firewalls, reaching to deepen their link and Sideswipe leaned into that slick electric touch, groaning aloud, it had been so long...

A dry cough made him startled, sitting up fast enough to scrape against his brother though he ignored Sunstreaker's loud complaint about his paint. "You two had better not be planning what I think you are," Ratchet said dryly, standing just inside the door. "Sam and Bumblebee were bad enough. The smell lingers for hours, you know."

"Get an air filter," Sunstreaker shot over his shoulder, obviously not inclined to move and Ratchet didn't look like he was about to leave, glowering at them as he crossed his arms over his chest. Pleasure was starting to pulse softly through their link and it was getting difficult to hold still even though he was reluctant to put his firewalls back up. Sideswipe wasn't a prude but this was asking a bit much...

"Please?" Sideswipe begged, a little desperately, and Ratchet blew out a long breath and stormed out, snapping out over his shoulder. "I am trying to run an infirmary not some kind of brothel!"

"Then why does Optimus visit so often," Sunstreaker muttered, but Sideswipe noticed he waited until the doors swung shut.

"Pissing off Ratchet is a fool's bet," Sideswipe managed to gasp aloud, his vocals disintegrating into static.

"Don't I know it."

Then vocalizing was entirely too difficult, all his systems focused with laser precision on the link between them, on the warm pulse of growing pleasure that was tinted with _Sunstreaker_, Primus, yes. Sunstreaker may have been fucked up, as he put it, but he didn't feel it now, his presence was as cool as a caress, a deep indigo that merged perfectly with Sideswipe's very spark.

_love/pleasure/love/mine/pleasure/mine/mine/MINE_

The hot blend of their emotions sparked through them sharply and Sideswipe was dimly surprised to realize that fiercely possessive urge was_ his_, fed through the link between them and echoing back. He tried to deny it, no, he wasn't like that, he wasn't—

_Yes, you are_. Darkly amused and Sideswipe arched up as Sunstreaker brought their consciousness's together with a hard, mental crash, sharing their emotions, the chaotic rush of their desire. Dimly, he felt the creak of metal under his fingers as they dug into his brother hard enough to leave dents, and he keened aloud at the backlash of knowledge mixed with ecstasy. _You are, of course you are. You're my other half._

It was too late for protest, excess current was building between them and his temperature sensors were screaming into the red, it had been so long since they had merged like this, so long, and Sideswipe's vocalizers cut out in the middle of their shared pleasure, woven as tight between them as a hardline and Sunstreaker was trembling against him, physically shaken even as his mental touch shuddered against Sideswipe's, tangled together in one instant of perfect alignment.

There was no sound to mark it, their frames freezing for the briefest of moments in a perfect tableau of shattering ecstasy and then Sideswipe was sagging back against the exam table, his fingers loosening automatically and his arms falling aside uselessly. Sunstreaker collapsed down on him, for once oblivious to any damage to his paint as he sprawled out over Sideswipe.

It wasn't in the least bit comfortable; for one, Sunstreaker weighed just as much as he did and his sensors were already protesting the heavy weight pinning him down. Sideswipe pushed the warnings aside, managed to raise one hand in a feeble caress down his brother's arm.

"Hnnn," Sunstreaker murmured, the link between them still sizzling with a hot charge but it was open enough that Sideswipe could tell it was a sound of contentment and not a random vocalization.

"That was nice," Sideswipe offered, chuckling weakly. He fully expected Sunstreaker to shove him away and probably add a loud, profane assessment of Sideswipe's most irritating character traits. That he didn't was actually a little worrisome and that he eased away from their mental link before he sat up was downright frightening.

"Sunstreaker?" he asked, softly.

His brother's optics were oddly somber, wide open and shimmering the same deep blue favored by most Autobots, a symbolic allegiance to their Prime. "That boy has more going on in him than just a few simple receptors."

"If that's true, why hasn't Ratchet discovered it?" Sideswipe asked, but not out of doubt. He had to agree, receptors on an organic being was unusual, but there was nothing about it that should be affecting Sunstreaker even in the slightest. A niggling fear deep in his own spark had him reaching out automatically for his brother, his sensors still braced for rejection but Sunny caught the mental touch easily, sending back a wave of gentle soothing.

"Ratchet is just a medic," Sunstreaker said impatiently, his tone belying his inner emotions, and he groaned a little as he slipped off the table and onto his feet. "He's an excellent medic, but he's no scientist or even a religious leader. How many of us have even seen the Allspark, much less have any of its specifications? He has nothing to compare the little human to, much less any idea of how to help him assimilate."

"But Prime—"

"—trusts Ratchet, probably more than he should."

Maybe so. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Of course not," Sunstreaker said with familiar sardonic amusement. "What difference would it make if they knew? Ratchet is a meddling busybody but he is brilliant at what he does. He'll figure it out, eventually. Probably after he scans me tomorrow. He'll be able to tell something is different because I can tell."

"But—"

The door slamming open cut him off and Ratchet strode in, as though their speaking his name had summoned him like a snarling demon from the Pit. "All right, you're done. Get out."

Sideswipe groaned aloud, "Come on, Ratchet, I can barely feel my hydraulics-"

He didn't see what Ratchet threw at him but enough of his scanners were online for Sideswipe to dodge away from it. The spanner embedded itself firmly into the wall next to him and Sideswipe could only stare at it in disbelief as it quivered to a halt. That could have taken out one of his optics, shit, Ratchet had to be three steps past furious if he was ready to cause actual damage-

His next shout only confirmed it. "I said get out! I swear by all the holy relics, if you aren't out of here in the next minute, I'm putting you on work detail for the next month, after I finish putting you back together!"

Sideswipe scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protests his legs gave him as he grabbed Sunstreaker by the arm and his spark sank as his brother chose that moment to prove he hadn't changed all that much, purring out, "And here we were just about to invite you for a threesome."

Yeah, they were dead. It was too late to do anything but watch with dread as Ratchet nearly swelled with fury, his optics glinting into the infrared spectrum, but Sideswipe was bemused to find that he wasn't really upset. His brother's presence was darkly amused, as splintered and cold as always but it was _there_ and that was enough. For now.

* * *

"Is it me or does it smell weird in here?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose. A bizarre combination of burnt rubber and hot electronics all mixed around with transmission fluid, like the world's most disgusting milkshake.

"Please don't remind me, I'm trying to ignore it," Ratchet said curtly from his position on the floor. Sam had been a little surprised to walk in this morning and find Ratchet scrubbing spatters of….something…off the floor but he'd decided against asking and just started picking up the tools that were scattered everywhere. It had only taken one day of working for Ratchet to figure out sometimes it was better not to know.

Today he was determined to make it through the full work day and to hell with being tired. His mom had stopped by with her usual morning fare of humiliation and breakfast, so his blood sugar was fine and Bumblebee had topped off his other, er, energy levels in the wee hours, so he was ready.

Ratchet, on the other hand, seemed to be equal parts testy and silently sullen, which was weird to say the least. He'd barely grunted a greeting when Sam had come in and had yet to even give him a list of tasks for the day. Morbid curiosity made Sam wonder what would happen to the first patient of the day. With the mood Ratchet was in, there was a chance it might be him.

Still, it was sort of, well, creepy to be in here with it so quiet. Ratchet didn't seem to be partial to the radio, unless he was listening to it on his own frequencies, and the only sounds were the quiet hum of the equipment and Ratchet himself moving around. With the floor done, Ratchet took the time to yank a wrench from where it was embedded firmly into the wall and Sam couldn't help a wince when he saw how _bent_ the thing was.

What the hell had Ratchet been doing in here, making explosives?

The quiet was getting to the point of being unnerving and it was weird besides. Certainly Ratchet hadn't had any trouble making conversation yesterday. A little hesitantly, Sam finally spoke up, his voice meek in the nearly silent room.

"I was thinking," Sam said, testing the waters of conversation.

"An excellent use of your brain, I am sure," Ratchet said without turning around. He'd been trying to bend the wrench back into some semblance of useful but it seemed like he was giving it up as a bad job because he tossed it into a waste bin with a disgusted snort. It wasn't the friendliest response but he didn't seemed actively pissed off. Besides, Sam did have a legitimate question. He just needed someone to ask about it and Bumblebee had been gone when he'd woken up that morning, off to plug himself back in or whatever he was doing. Not that he told Sam. Not that Sam was bitter or anything.

Determinedly, Sam plunged on, "I was thinking about maybe signing up for some online classes, only, I wasn't sure if I could. I mean, I know that I'm kind of in hiding but I'd like to at least get my GED, maybe take some college courses, do you think-"

"I think that's an excellent idea, Sam," Ratchet didn't look at him but for once he didn't sound sarcastic or irritated. "Education is as important to our people as it is to yours and that would be a better use of your time than a few other pursuits I could name."

Sam broke in hurriedly before Ratchet could, and probably would, start naming them, "Not that I'm going to be able to sign up at a real college anytime soon. I figured it couldn't hurt to take some basic classes, though, figure out what I want to do."

"You'd make a decent medical assistant," Ratchet offered, dryly. "I don't pay well but I'm sure the experience would be invaluable."

"Thanks but no thanks," Sam shivered at the very thought of it. If watching a very basic surgery on Bumblebee made him throw up, he couldn't imagine standing there handing out tools for something really invasive. Besides, he couldn't help but wonder if that was more along the lines of mechanic than medical assistant, and if so, it was more Mikaela's skill than his. "I'm not sure how I'd be able to list it on my resume. Before I came here, I was actually thinking about pre-law."

"Then be grateful we arrived and spared you from that well of unending boredom."

"Don't care for legal side of things, eh?" Sam grinned. This was a little better. Ratchet might not really have a sense of humor but he was certainly funny enough without it.

"I spent enough time with the lawmakers on Cybertron when I was a politician to know I never want to do it again."

"You were a politician?" And okay, maybe the doubt in his voice was a little insulting. He'd always thought politicians needed to be at least sort of tactful.

Ratchet didn't take offense, only huffed out a laugh. "Yes, I was, for a time. I wasn't always a medic, just as Bumblebee wasn't always an espionage expert and Optimus wasn't always our leader. Ironhide, on the other hand, has always been a soldier in one capacity or another. I'm fairly sure it's hardwired into his spark."

"I guess I never really thought about it," Sam said thoughtfully. "But you guys live a really long time. I guess it would be boring to do the same thing forever."

"I didn't become a medic because I was bored, Sam," Sharply and Sam blinked.

"I know that," Sam said, a little hesitantly. This sounded like the beginning of a lecture, maybe there was still time to head it off...

Too late now, Ratchet was already prattling on, "I became a medic because I couldn't help anymore as a liaison and I had the inclination for it. Someone had to be there to put our people back together instead of just sitting there on a committee, debating back and forth what should be done while mechs were dying all around us in droves."

Whatever else he was going to say, Ratchet cut himself off, his voice briefly squawking static as he sat down at his work table, snatching up one of the far too many fuel capacitors stacked there roughly and slapping it down in front of him. It sparked brightly, spitting smoke and Sam ducked down behind a stack of boxes, peering out warily as Ratchet cursed.

Ratchet had a temper, they all knew that. He was brash and impatient but today he seemed to be all but vibrating with tension. While Sam watched he shoved away the smoking component and picked up another with more care, then stopped, resting his head in his hand. If he were a human, Sam would say he looked exhausted and maybe that wasn't too far off, anyway. As far as he'd seen, Ratchet hadn't stopped working in days.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, finally. He stepped out from behind the boxes warily, slipping closer, not that he was actually expecting an answer. To his surprise, Ratchet went still. He covered his face with one hand and Sam could hear the hiss of air in his vents, the Autobot version of letting out a long breath.

"No, I don't believe I am," Ratchet said with rare, quiet honesty. He flicked at the still smoking fuel capacitor moodily. "I am exhausted with little reprieve in sight. Until another qualified medic arrives, I am the only option. We need these fuel capacitors now, before the need for energy becomes urgent." He sighed again, turning his head enough that Sam could see the blue glow of his optics. "We're also trying to cement relations with your people in at least allowing us to remain here, as well as trying to track down the other Decepticons who are on this planet. We know that they are here but locating them is no small task. And I seem to have developed a few personal issues that are rivaling your own."

Personal issues? "Do you want to talk about it?" Sam offered, a little uncomfortably. Had he really just offered a buddy chat to _Ratchet_? But, well, after the past couple of days Ratchet felt more like a buddy and it sure seemed like he could use one. Sam couldn't exactly help with Decepticon tracking or fuel capacitors or political wrangling but he did have ears. He could listen.

"Not particularly. I didn't want to discuss it then, I certainly don't want to talk about it now."

So much for that idea then. Ratchet turned away from him and scowled out the windows at the dusty desert surrounding them. "I wonder if it would be worth the punishment to sneak off base and go somewhere that it rains," Ratchet said, pensively. "It's been a long time since I've been on a planet with rain or at least a form of rain that isn't corrosive."

"Can I come with you?" Sam joked. Rain sounded kind of nice right now. A cool, gentle rain or hell, even a thunderstorm would be a nice change of pace from dust, dust, and hot.

Ratchet snorted. "Now _that_ wouldn't be worth the punishment, as I'm sure all of you can attest, but after spending the morning watching Sunstreaker's attempts to flirt with me and his brother, simultaneously, I really feel the need to scrub out my auditory sensors."

Ugh, yeah. No wonder Ratchet was pissy. "Can I ask you something?"

"I haven't been able to stop you yet."

"Funny," Sam grinned, wracking his brain for a subject. Something that would be less...depressing, would be good. Well, there was one question he'd been meaning to ask Bee- "So, Ratchet, are you considered hot by Cybertronian standards?"

He'd managed to startled Ratchet, he realized, or at least Ratchet had turned around to blink at him. "I...beg your pardon?"

"Hot. Attractive. Sexy." Sam prodded. "You just said Sunstreaker was flirting with you." Now Ratchet was outright staring at him and with a jolt, Sam wondered if Ratchet thought _he_ was flirting. Ewwwww. "Not that I'm interested or anything, I just wondered."

That got him moving again. Ratchet shook his head and snorted, "We are robotic, physical appearance is not—"

Oh, Sam was so calling bullshit on that. "Whoa, stop right there. If that was true, which it so isn't, this place wouldn't look like a car show every time you guys transform. This place would be full of Buicks not Porsches, so spill. Who is hot to you guys?"

"Prowl, certainly. I suppose Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could be considered physically appealing, if you didn't know them personally," Ratchet said sourly. He seemed to be actually considering the question. "Bumblebee is very young but he is attractive enough. I can't say he's my type but you certainly seem to find him appealing."

Ratchet smirked at that and Sam shrugged. It was true enough. "And you?"

"I believe I am what is termed as dependable. " Very dry. "I do have a steady job."

"And Optimus? Is he hot stuff?" Sam said teasingly, but something about Ratchet's expression made his smile slip and the concern came back full force.

"Yes. He is." Softly, tersely, maybe that explained Ratchet's mood, he and Optimus must've had a fight. That had to be about eight levels of awkward hell. It was probably why humans had rules about dating the boss but it wasn't like there were so many Autobots around that they could afford to be choosy.

Sam was still trying to figure out how to get back into safer territory when the door banged open and Ironhide strode in, his heavy steps almost deafening in the confines of the room. Quickly, Sam scrambled out of the way so that Ratchet could get to him, and how the hell had Ironhide gotten hurt, he was better armored than a tank—

Only, he didn't seem hurt, he seemed pissed off and the first thing he did when Ratchet stood up was shove the medic, hard enough that he stumbled back a step. Sharp, too-quick Cybertronian exploded into the air from both of them and Sam cringed back even as Ratchet gestured at him angrily. Ironhide gave Sam a dismissive glance and went on with his rant, barely letting Ratchet get in a word edgewise.

Whatever he was saying didn't seem to placate Ironhide and Sam determinedly didn't let his receptors translate this one, kept way back because Ironhide was _radiating_ fury. He wasn't scared of Ironhide, not really, but anyone who didn't have a healthy respect for those cannons deserved what they got.

Not that Ratchet seemed to be respecting them and the staticy sound of Cybertronian was rising in volume to a high-pitched whine, reminiscent of an old dial-up modem. Whatever Ironhide was saying, Ratchet didn't seem to want to hear it. He tried to turn away and couldn't, Ironhide pushed him up against a wall and held him there and Sam just stared, too shocked to even think about giving them any privacy. What the hell was going on?

Just when he was on the verge of running out and finding someone who was of a more appropriate size to break up this fight, Ratchet suddenly sagged in Ironhide's grip, almost falling. The bigger mech had a good hold on him though, steadied him for a moment until Ratchet caught his balance.

Ironhide said something else, and Sam caught one word, Optimus's name, and then he turned away and left Ratchet standing as he stormed back out as abruptly as he'd arrived. As Sam watched, Ratchet swayed a little on his feet before he slumped back into his enormous Autobot-size chair, resting his head in both his hands.

Shit. He might not have understood the conversation but Sam had a pretty good guess as to what that was all about and suddenly, he was furious with Ironhide. What the hell was it his business what Ratchet and Optimus did, anyway? He'd had enough people poking around his relationship with Bumblebee to know that it pissed him off royally, and Ratchet had enough going on without other people yelling at him. Didn't anyone else see how tired he was, for crying out loud?

For a second, he was tempted to leave and go find Optimus, or, no, maybe Prowl, but Ratchet probably wouldn't appreciate having anyone else interfering in his personal problem, as he called it. Instead, Sam crept closer, reaching out to rest a hesitant hand on the struts that made up Ratchet's calf. Ratchet didn't quite flinch but Sam felt his sudden tension.

"Do you want me to stay or go?" Sam asked quietly. It was an honest question and he'd come to learn that Autobots appreciated blunt honesty.

"You can stay," Ratchet said softly, and that wasn't really an answer but Sam stayed anyway. Somehow or another, Ratchet had gone from scary Autobot medic to friend and Sam wasn't inclined to leave any of his friends alone when they were like this. He stood there for a moment, offering whatever pathetic support he could, then he went back to straightening up the infirmary. He still couldn't weld fuel capacitors and Ratchet didn't seem to want a friendly ear to listen, but he could be here, if Ratchet wanted.

To hell with work detail, Sam was staying to help his friend.

tbc**  
**


	31. Idioms for Idiots, In Any Language

**Title:** Idioms for Idiots, In Any Language

by Keelywolfe

**Notes:** Let's have a look at that argument between Ratchet and Ironhide from Ironhide's POV, shall we? Great!

* * *

There was a saying that humans had, one that Ironhide appreciated. "Didn't suffer fools gladly," that was it, and Ratchet might be famous for just such a thing but Ironhide wasn't one with much patience for stupidity either, especially when it was from Ratchet who was damned well old enough to know better.

The scuttlebutt around base was the Optimus and Ratchet were on the outs, not that anyone but Ironhide could guess the real reason why. Gossip was rampant and probably wrong, speculating at everything from a bad interface to Ratchet bedding the twins, instead, preferring mechs who were more his own size. Plenty of stupidity going around, as far as Ironhide was concerned.

If Ironhide had been the sharing sort, and if he'd been interested in the various betting pools, he could've told them what had likely happened and any idiot could guess how things had worked out from there. Ratchet had turned Optimus down, probably with his usual sensitivity, and shot everything straight to the Pit. Oh, Prime put on a good show, always had, but Ironhide had known him too long not to notice when he looked like someone had kicked a puppy in front of him. Made him want to give Ratchet a good hard kick where it would hurt _him_ most, but he was still playing the Phantom of the Infirmary and Ironhide had been too damned busy to do much about it until now.

Not that he didn't understand; he did, all too well. There was a part of him that would always ache for Chromia and he would mourn her loss until his own spark went to meet with Primus. When he'd lost her, he'd nearly wanted to die himself and sheer, bitter stubbornness had kept him here. Time passing had made the loss hurt less but it was always, always there. _He understood_, damn it.

But that didn't mean he wanted to spend the rest of his hopefully long life alone.

Who the hell did Ratchet think he was fooling anyway? Anyone with a working optic in his head could see that the two of them had been mooning over each other long before they'd started knocking struts together. He figured most of the Autobots thought the two of them had been at it for much longer than they had; probably Ironhide and the two of them were the only ones who knew the truth and that was only because Ironhide knew those two better than anyone. He had seen the change in 'em when they finally stopped dancing around each other and he damn well wanted to keep it around. Better than seeing Optimus moping, anyway, a Prime should be allowed a little dignity, after all.

He pushed open the infirmary door with a bang and stomped in, barely sparing a glance to the human kid who nearly jumped out of his skin at the abrupt entrance. Sam was standing by a stack of boxes and Ironhide only absently tracked the kid so he didn't step on the little human. As far as Ironhide was concerned, Samuel Witwicky was officially Someone Else's Problem, and whether that someone was Bumblebee, Ratchet, or Optimus himself, it didn't damn well matter to him. He had his own humans to look out for and keeping the Lennoxs safe was enough of a chore. He sure as hell didn't want to add this human to his duty roster.

Ratchet was sitting at his workbench, a stack of fuel capacitors next to him. Not that Ironhide would have been able to miss him; with paint that color, he should have just added a target to his hood. No arguing that with him, though, not a single Autobot had a lick of sense when it came to actual camouflage. Hell, their espionage expert had disguised himself in_ yellow_. There was a fucking good reason _he'd_ chosen plain black but even Optimus hadn't been able to resist a flashy paint job. A couple of times Ironhide had been tempted to beat a little logic into his comrades in arms, but being that they were all the last fools left on the sinking ship that was their species, eh...let the kids wear whatever paint they liked.

Predictably, Ratchet was already on his feet, probably ready to gripe at him about getting hurt but Ironhide didn't give him a chance, shoved him hard enough that Ratchet stumbled back into the wall, the room shivering around them ominously as Ironhide stomped after him.

"What are you doing—" Ratchet started furiously, lapsing into their native language in his surprise.

That suited Ironhide just fine. "You told him no, didn't you."

Ratchet stiffened, his optics brightening in indignant anger. "It's not your concern."

"Didn't you!" Ironhide snarled, shoving Ratchet back when he would have pushed Ironhide away.

"I am not going to argue with you about this in front of an audience." Ratchet said stiffly, gesturing at the kid who was watching them with wide eyes.

"He doesn't understand," Ironhide said dismissively. Truth was, he didn't much care if the kid did understand. Maybe a little embarrassment would do Ratchet some good. He slammed Ratchet hard against the wall again. "Now answer me! You told him no, didn't you!"

The hum of weapons coming online vibrated through his hands, a tremor that made his own cannons spin restlessly in their casing but Ironhide resisted the instinctive urge to power them up, trusting that even in his growing fury, Ratchet wouldn't cut his head off.

Okay, mostly trusting.

Ratchet's optics were blazing hot with temper, heat rising from his armor in a visible waver. But his voice, now, there was the real heat, a banked volcano in Ratchet's voice mod and that was a weapon Ratchet had always wielded with brutal precision. "I'm so terribly sorry you lost your bet, perhaps next time you'll be more careful in how you spend your energon?"

"You think this is about energon?" Ironhide asked in disbelief. "This is about the fact that one of my closest friends has his head shoved up his exhaust so far that he could calibrate his own fuel intakes!" He ignored Ratchet's indignant sputtering. "You think I don't know what this is about? What are the odds that that Ark-36 was destroyed?"

"I don't—" And he didn't miss the way Ratchet's optics suddenly skittered away from his own, Primus.

"What are the odds, soldier!"

"Stop it!"

"What are the odds?" Ironhide asked, again, softly this time, because Ratchet's optics were closed and shuttered, the thrum of readied weapons replaced by disconcerting stillness. "I can run the odds for you, you know."

"Wheeljack—" Strained, barely a whisper and the hurt there was strong enough that Ironhide felt an ache of his own, ignored it because this needed to be said, should've been said a long, long time ago.

"Don't you get it? This is about Wheeljack! Just how long are you going to hide behind his memory, telling every damned 'bot who will listen that he's dead while you don't believe it yourself!" Ironhide said fiercely. "Do you think this is what he would have wanted for you? He loved you, damn it, you could honor his memory better if you let yourself live without him!"

"Get out of here, I have things to do." Dull, weaker than he ever wanted to hear from Ratchet.

"He's gone."

"Stop it," Ratchet said, weakly. His optics lit, begging Ironhide without words and that was most disturbing of all, to see Ratchet robbed of his most potent weapon, his vocalizer.

"He's gone," Ironhide repeated, gentler, his grip on Ratchet loosening enough to let Ratchet pull away. He only leaned against the wall, a marionette with cut strings. "He was my friend, he was a good friend and he's gone. We'll see him in the Well, Ratchet. He's gone."

_-Stop it!-_ Shrill static, words hissed to him through a private com link and suddenly Ratchet was sagging, Ironhide just catching his shoulders and hauling him upright again as Ratchet made a low, keening sound of pain. Ironhide ignored the protests in his hydraulics as he held Ratchet up, vaguely aware of the kid watching them with golf-ball wide eyes but he didn't care a damn bit. Dignity was for 'bots who needed it; Ironhide didn't need any illusions over his self-confidence.

He just held his friend, wordlessly soothed the trembling that went through both their frames as Ratchet leaned against him, that soft wail trailing into silent shaking.

Ah, hell. Ironhide couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ratchet this vulnerable, had he ever? Didn't matter, he wasn't likely to see it again; he'd count it lucky if Ratchet ever forgave him for seeing it now.

Ratchet, their irritable, bad-tempered, caring, medic; cantankerous old Ratchet who was just as likely to heal a 'bots wounds as he was to give 'em one or two, who spent just as much time holding them all at arm's length as he did yanking them in to invade their intimate, dark recesses.

Not that Ironhide blamed Optimus for pinning Ratchet. He might have been tempted once... hell, was he trying to fool himself now? He would've gladly taken Ratchet to his berth; he hadn't been joking when he'd offered a few days ago. They'd been friends for eons and these days he knew Ratchet just as well as he knew himself. And he'd be lying again if he tried to tell himself that Ratchet being a medic didn't add a little to his appeal. Was there anyone who didn't know that medics and engineers were clever little glitches in the berth? Certainly Wheeljack had had no complaints and he knew from personal experience that 'Jack could've won an award in interfacing if there had ever been such a contest. And Wheeljack would've known if there was.

How Optimus had wriggled past Ratchet's defenses to begin with was the question. He already knew how Wheeljack had done at, had seen the damn video—

Wheeljack.

"I know," Ironhide said softly, whispering against Ratchet's audial sensor. "It hurts, I know. But you're hurting yourself now and Optimus, too, for nothing. Wheeljack would have wanted you to be happy."

Too late. He felt Ratchet withdraw from him, far more than just a physical movement. "Please leave," Ratchet said coolly, turning away from him. Dismissing him.

Well, fuck.

It was pretty damned tempting to just give Ratchet a few physical dents to go along with his bad attitude but a glance at the kid made Ironhide rethink it. Witwicky already looked close to hyperventilating and tearing up the infirmary wasn't likely to put Ratchet in a more reasonable mood.

With a loud oath in a number of languages, none of them English, the kid could learn proper swearing from Bumblebee, Ironhide stormed back out, more than ready to send a few practice drones to the scrapheap. The humans were always happy to supply more; it was the only thing they_ didn't_ get bitched at about overusing.

Two steps out the door and his sensors belated warned him that he was about to run head-on into Optimus, standing not ten feet from the infirmary door where he had probably overheard most of their little spat and looking none-too-pleased about it.

Better and better. Shit.

With a silent sigh, Ironhide followed his Prime's curt gesture to follow, the two of them walking a fair distance from the infirmary before Optimus turned back to him, both optic ridges pointedly raised. _-Well?-_

If Optimus was going to order him to apologize, they'd all be waiting for it to rain ice cubes in Hell. Optimus should've said a few of those things himself so he couldn't blame Ironhide for saying what he hadn't.

Finally, Optimus sighed, lifting one hand to rub wearily between his optics, before he said, dryly, "While I appreciate your attempts to defend my honor—"

"It's not about that—" Ironhide protested, falling silent when Optimus raised a hand.

"I know."

"He cares about you," Ironhide said gruffly. Ratchet might be willing to throw away a perfectly good relationship but Optimus probably had better logic processors. Probably.

To his surprise, Optimus only nodded, adding, "Yes, he does. Ironhide, I'm surprised that he even told you I asked him to partner with me, but since he did, I should tell you that I never expected him to say yes."

"You...what?" Blankly. Maybe his own logic processors were shorting.

"I can't say I didn't hope and for a moment I believed—that doesn't matter," Optimus dismissed it. "My point is, I expected him to refuse."

Ironhide ran a hand over his face, rubbing gears that were starting to strain. "Look, I never claimed to be the smartest mech in the army, but I'm no fool and none of this is making sense. You don't really want to partner with him?" He would follow Optimus into the Pit itself without a moment of hesitation but that didn't stop him from feeling a niggling bit of betrayal on Ratchet's behalf. If he didn't want to partner with Ratchet, why the hell did he ask? Optimus was just about the last 'bot Ironhide would have suspected of playing with another mechs processors.

"I do," Optimus said quietly and Ironhide relaxed. "And Ratchet knows it. He's hurting, Ironhide."

"We've all lost someone—"

"And that's the problem. Wheeljack isn't lost so much as he is misplaced and it's very difficult to mourn someone who isn't dead, no matter how likely it is. Ratchet has spent the last thousand years caught between hoping and denying, and that is not something that is going to heal quickly. It will take patience and time, and no small amount of stubbornness." A faint smile. "Conveniently, I am in possession of all three."

"So if you knew he'd say no, why did you ask him?" Ironhide asked, more than a little exasperated. Why did every damned mech have to make everything so difficult? Not a lick of sense in this whole army.

"To remind him that he has another option."

Ironhide grunted in acknowledgment of that. "You sure he's worth it?"

He'd meant it to be teasing but Optimus answered him seriously. "I would help him get past his loss even if I had nothing to gain from it. Before he was anything else to me, he was my friend. We have both known Ratchet for most of our lives. He is equal parts brilliant and impatient, rude and compassionate. We both know this." Optimus fell silent, contemplating. "Then, once, Ratchet came to me, and he allowed me to see something else."

Ironhide shifted uncomfortably, not entirely happy with the turn this conversation had taken.

Optimus gave him a faint smile. "He's worth it. Worth fighting for." With a barely perceptible shift, Optimus straightened, and the seriousness in his expression made Ironhide respond automatically, his cannons giving an abortive, whirring cycle. "In any case, we have other concerns to discuss than my personal life."

"Yes, sir," Ironhide said firmly, more than happy to shove aside the touchy-feely aspects of life and get back to what he was good at. At his base, Ironhide was and had always been a soldier, a weapon.

All he needed to know was which way to shoot.

tbc**  
**


	32. Settling Debts

**Title: **Settling Debts  
**Author:** Keelywolfe

**Pairing(s):** Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus

* * *

It never rains but it pours was the saying. Sam wasn't sure how that applied when you were in the desert and it didn't much rain, but he still felt it applied pretty well. After Ironhide's little spectacular, Sam had taken the time 'bot side of the infirmary into order while Ratchet sat just a little longer, silent but for the hum of his systems. Finally, he moved and Sam had watched apprehensively while Ratchet reached for another of the fuel capacitors. This time he was careful, and the soft hiss of soldering added a little rhythm to their near silence.

If Ratchet just wanted to hang out without talking, Sam could do that.

Only, the universe didn't seem to agree. The door swung open smoothly on its hinges and Sam's heart sank a little when he saw Optimus stride in, ducking his head a little under the door frame. Another 'bot that Sam didn't recognize was right behind him, barely half Optimus's height, his armor a deep metallic blue.

Optimus crouched low in front of Sam, bracing one hand against the floor. "Good afternoon, Sam," Optimus said, his smile considerably warmer than the last time they'd spoken. It didn't seem like Optimus was one to hold a grudge. "Ratchet tells me that you've been very diligent in your work detail."

"Yeah, Ratchet's been keeping me busy. " But he didn't miss the way Optimus's optics flickered towards Ratchet or the way Ratchet _didn't_ turn around.

"Jolt," Ratchet said brusquely. "I don't have you scheduled until later today."

The other 'bot shifted uncomfortably, his feet scraping the floor softly. "Yeah, uh, I know. But, Ratchet, it _itches_!" he whined, "You don't have energy whips, you don't know what it's like to have the calibration off and I've been waiting—"

"Sam," Optimus interrupted smoothly. "I don't believe you've met Jolt yet."

"Yes, yes," Jolt gave him a dismissive glance. "But Ratchet—"

"Ratchet is going to put off your repairs indefinitely if you don't show the proper respect to the young man who destroyed Megatron and saved the life of our Prime in the process," Ratchet said sharply, finally turning around to glare at the smaller 'bot.

Immediately, Jolt flung himself at Sam's feet and the sight of a fifteen foot mech genuflecting in front of him was surreal, to say the least. He stared, bemused, as Jolt slapped his hands on the floor, bowing and simpering.

"Thank you!" Jolt simpered, "Thank you, little human! Thank you for all you have done!" He knelt back up with a scowl. "Good enough? Will you fix me now?"

"Jolt," Optimus began, a note of warning in his voice.

Jolt heaved a very familiar sounding put-upon sigh, "Hey, kid, nice to meet you. Bumblebee has mentioned you, oh, a few thousand times. You sound okay, for a human who managed to kill Megatron. Now would you please tell our glorious medic that we have been suitably introduced?"

"Uh, sure. Nice to meet you, too," Sam said dubiously. He supposed Jolt couldn't be too bad, if Bumblebee spoke to him on a regular basis.

"You're still early," Ratchet pointed out.

"Yeah, but Optimus said that he was stealing the kid here for a while and suggest I, ah, impose upon you to fix me while he's gone. Something about humans having a weak stomach?" Jolt raised what passed for his eyebrows and Sam felt warmth flood his cheeks. Lovely, every Autobot knew that he'd yakked his breakfast up after watching Ratchet fixing Bumblebee. Nothing like a little fresh humiliation to add to the day.

Ratchet's fingers moved nimbly, there was a sizzle and the smell of hot solder filled the air. "If it were you on the table, Sam would probably be delighted to hand me the scalpel," Ratchet finally replied. "Let me finish this and I'll check you over."

"You're stealing me?" Sam asked Optimus, even as Jolt grinned smugly and boosted himself up to sit on one of the exam tables. He seemed like he was young, younger even than Bumblebee and the way he sat, swinging his legs impatiently, made Sam think of a little kid.

"For a brief moment, yes. I'll return him to you shortly, Ratchet," Optimus said, to Ratchet's back since the medic was focusing on the fuel capacitor in front of him and pointedly didn't turn around again.

"That's fine," Ratchet replied, soundly oddly...subdued? Yeah, this was some serious awkward here. Just as Sam was turning towards the door, Jolt caught his eye, bright blue optics meeting his. From his expression, Jolt wasn't much more comfortable and his optics flickered in what Sam knew was a very expansive eye roll.

"Hurry up, Ratchet, this itches like hell," Jolt whined, but he gave Sam a little wink. What...oh, now he understood. Jolt was here acting like a buffer between these two, which meant he wasn't the only one who had a chain of gossip circling the city. For pity's sake, first Ironhide and now this guy, Sam thought with savage impatience.

"Sam," Optimus called, drawing his attention. He tilted his head towards the door in a silent little 'come hither, little human'.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Sam said absently, giving Ratchet a quick glance. The medic hadn't looked up from his work yet and Sam kept an eye on him until the door swung shut, stepping out into the heat as Optimus transformed. His driver's side door swung open invitingly and Sam climbed up with only a few misgivings. He hadn't ridden much with any Autobot except Bumblebee and Sideswipe. Riding in Optimus felt…weird. He might be shaped like a semi-truck but it sure felt a lot more like sitting in a limo or a church on wheels. Something sacred like that.

Add in that there was no radio, none of the loud rock that Bumblebee loved, and the interior was oppressively silent, nothing but the quiet hum of a well-maintained Autobot engine.

"So where are we off to?" Sam asked, partly to fill the silence but with some real curiosity. He was getting pulled off work detail for this, after all.

Either Autobots weren't much at surprises or Optimus didn't like to stand on ceremony because he answered promptly. "To your new quarters. I thought you might like to see them."

"Seriously?" Sam grinned. He'd nearly forgotten that he was supposed to get new quarters, that his current little room was only temporary.

"Oh, yes," Optimus's voice through his speakers was amused. "I hope you don't mind, but they are still in the officer's section of the Autobot sector."

"Why would I mind?" Sam shrugged. "I'm assuming that Bumblebee will be staying with me, so yeah, it makes sense for us be there."

Like he and Bumblebee had a choice in the matter right now. It didn't really bother him; if he had had a choice, it would have been the same one so there was no point in moaning about the unfairness of the universe. It was probably better to stay in the Autobot sector anyway, come to think of it. If he had any problems with his receptors, what exactly was a human medic going to do for him, plug him into a wall outlet?

There was a hiss of brakes as Optimus rolled to a stop and Sam peered out the window with interest at the building they stopped next to. Still low to the ground, the outer walls made up of whitewashed concrete blocks…huh. Hopping out of Optimus didn't improve the view and the only real difference between this building and his last quarters is instead of an old warehouse, this place looked like a shiny, new warehouse. Concrete in the place of corrugated steel, well, at least it would be nice and cool inside.

"What do you think?" Optimus, from behind him.

Sam forced a bright smile and turned back towards him it. "It's—" _Great_ froze on his tongue because it wasn't a truck talking to him or even an enormous talking robot. Instead, it was a dark-haired man wearing tight jeans and a black t-shirt, blue-eyed and tall, and holy crap _this_ was Optimus's holo? Not that he'd seen it before but he supposed it made some sort of bizarre sense that Optimus would be smokin' hot. He was their leader, right, it was only appropriate that his smile would make Sam feel a little weak in the knees, that his hair was long and a little tousled in the hot, desert wind, and…geez, Ratchet had said Optimus was hot but this—

Optimus gave him a wry smile and Sam swallowed, hard. Okay, maybe it wasn't just Bumblebee. Obviously, he was just gay for Autobots.

"I'm afraid the aesthetic appeal of the outer walls is lacking but it's much better on the inside. I promise," Optimus said apologetically and that deep voice coming from that body...Sam tore his eyes away and told his receptors to knock it the fuck off, Optimus was not one of the options on the menu, thanks.

"It's fine," Sam said, clearing his voice as it came out in a little squeak. "Let's check out the inside, though."

There was a human size door on one wall not far from them and Sam decided that walking behind Optimus wasn't exactly going to be calming, so he went for it, opening the heavy steel door and peering inside. To his surprise, the front hallway consisted of stairs, leading downward. Interesting. He followed them curiously, already having proved time and again that he was the Alice to the Autobot white rabbit, only this was the first time he'd had to actually go down a rabbit hole.

Another door at the base of the stairs and Optimus caught his arm before he could try the handle.

"You have to have security clearance to get inside," Optimus said and Sam forcibly pushed away a shiver at that deep voice so near his ear, the heat of a body close to his own. Jesus, maybe he needed a recharge more than he'd thought.

Every single thought of embarrassment and recharge frittered out of his brain when Optimus took his hand, twining their fingers together. "Here," he said and Sam was just about to mindlessly nod, leaning towards him, when Optimus pressed his thumb into a small square by the door. "It's coded to your living DNA. Bumblebee is also coded into it through his personal signature and you can add others later, as you like."

The heavy door swung open and Sam staggered inside, the rush of cool air against his face slapping sanity back into him. Oh, dear god, he'd actually been thinking about jumping Optimus in a freaking stairwell like some kind of freakish Energizer bunny of fucking. With dread thick in his throat, Sam glanced back at Optimus but he was appropriately bland, either oblivious to Sam's...issue or at least pretending to be.

All right, then, add that to his list of most horrifyingly embarrassing things ever. Still, he latched onto Optimus's possible obliviousness gratefully, turning back to look at his new quarters, and lust promptly dropped away as he gaped, all his earlier disappointment swept away.

It was huge, the small building on the outside was set deep into the ground, the ceilings high with gorgeous skylights built in, sending sunlight streaming down into the large main room. Along one side he could see stairs leading up to a loft, the corner of a bed just visible and the downstairs was completely open, a well-stocked kitchen on one side and the other a large living room, filled with comfy-looking chairs and a sofa and the entertainment center…man, that so was not Sony. To see an obviously alien-crafted television and speakers connected to an xbox was surreal but still way-cool.

Sam turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. He could see evidence of Bumblebee's touches, a Trekkie poster here, one for a favorite band there, and the far wall opened into a garage, the cement floors leading on an incline up to a large, automatic door. So that Bumblebee could come inside in both his forms, Sam realized, and the room wasn't big enough for Optimus to walk around inside but there was enough room for Bee.

"Wow..." Sam breathed. "This is...this is just..."

"I believe your expression speaks for you," Optimus said, amused. "I'm glad. We want you to be happy here, Sam."

That made a tinge of guilt worm up; he'd seen some of the quarters that the Autobots were using and for them to make something this lavish for him just didn't seem right.

"It's awesome," Sam said, honestly, but he couldn't help adding. "But you guys didn't have to do this. I could've stayed in the old ones for a while longer."

"You are the savior of both our species," Optimus said firmly and Sam winced. Yeah, sure, he was a savior, but he was really starting to think he'd ridden that meal wagon about as far as it could go. Maybe Optimus sensed that, or maybe he was just, you know, Optimus and he knew was Sam was thinking, because he added, "You will also be much safer here, particularly when you are at your most vulnerable. Even the craftiest Decepticon would have difficulty getting past the security measures we've implemented."

Okay, yeah, that actually made sense. Him safer actually meant less work for everyone and the niggling guilt subsided, shifting back into awe. "This is really cool."

"Could you please admire it silently? Your astonishment is very loud and distracting, human," Sharply, from beneath the loft stairs and that voice was firmly attached to one mech that Sam had no plans to add to his security roster.

"Sunsteaker?" Sam asked, dubiously, following the sound. Not that he doubted it was his voice, more like his own sanity because what the hell was he even doing here?

The answer that his eyes revealed was so far into the surreal that for a moment all Sam could do was stare blankly. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were both sitting there in their robot forms, Sideswipe flashing him a quick smile, and from the look of it they were painting the wall, the last unpainted spot in the place. Or at least Sideswipe was painting, plain eggshell white. Sunstreaker wasn't painting, exactly, or he was but with nothing so simple as house paint. He was creating...a mural? Of Sam and his parents, and Bumblebee in his human form as well as his Camaro form.

And it was good, amazingly good. As good as a photograph and it would be perfectly visible to anyone in the main room, positioned just perfectly in his new home.

"You're painting that?" Sam asked. Not that he really doubted it , since Sunstreaker was standing there with brush in his hand, the thin handle looking almost ludicrous in his large hand. "That's amazing."

Sunstreaker barely glanced at him. "Your grasp of the obvious is, as always, impeccable. Yes, I am painting it. As I finished working on the shield array earlier in the week, Optimus decided to press my other talents into use."

He studied his work silently for a moment then leaned forward to dab at a minute area beneath Bumblebee's chin. Fiddling the shadow, Sam realized. "I'm sure you'll adjust from the shock that species other than humans are capable of art with your usual aplomb."

"Actually, you being an artist makes a lot of sense," Sam admitted. Sunstreaker was obviously the Autobot version of Van Gogh. Good thing he didn't actually have ears…

"Human history would indicate that's true," Sideswipe grinned down at him. Even sitting down, they were both far above him. "Hello, Sam."

Sideswipe had a couple dabs of white paint marring his armor, his hands flecked with tiny white speckles. Sam couldn't help but notice that Sunstreaker still looked pristine.

The last bit of plain drywall disappeared under his brush and Sideswipe set it down on the paint tray with a sigh. He started to sling a friendly arm over his brother's shoulder and Sunstreaker hissed at him, and shoved him roughly away. "I'll thank you not to ruin my finish along with your own."

Sideswipe winked down at Sam and smiled wryly. "Sorry, sweetheart."

Yeah, that? Was almost as freaky as his sudden Optimus lust but Sunstreaker's deadly glare at his brother was comfortably familiar. Sideswipe gave his brother a charmingly innocent look that was ignored, his twin focusing again on his work, before giving Sam a little wink. "Why don't you go check out the upstairs? Paint should already be dry up there."

"Sure," Sam stuttered out, and he tore his gaze from that bit of weird to check out his new bedroom.

The walls were gleaming fresh, maybe dry but Sam didn't check, and there was no furniture other than the bed, swathed in protective plastic. He could already see that the room would be awesome. Skylights above the bed filled the room to the brim with natural light and Sam figured the night view would be brilliant, wondered absently what kind of glass those were made with that the Autobots had allowed skylights at all. Maybe the same stuff that made up their windshields?

Curiously made him tap lightly on one of the walls, noting the sturdy construction with some bemusement. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that they'd made him a bunker; it could be that there was a safe room, maybe even an escape tunnel. Nothing would surprise him at this point.

Behind one door was a very well-appointed bathroom, the shower large enough for two and he was not going to blush about that, he really wasn't. The last door had to be the closet and Sam had just opened the door, ready to peer inside when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, yanking him inside.

His startled shout was muffled by a mouth over his own, the slickness of a tongue already pressing between his parted lips and the hot, electric blue taste of the kiss made him relax. Bumblebee. Of course Bumblebee would think the irony of hiding in the closet for him was hilarious.

But laughing was just about the furthest thing from his mind and Sam moaned into the kiss as Bumblebee cupped his face with strong hands, stroked the line of his jaw with his thumbs as he held Sam still for deep, wet kisses.

Sam didn't even realize they were moving until the floor was hard under him, Bumblebee hard above him and he just caught a glimpse of pale green eyes, the sharp edge of a grin, before Bee was pushing his shirt up, sinking his teeth lightly into the smooth skin of Sam's chest.

"Gah!" Sam yelped, grabbing Bee's head with both hands. Blond hair tangled around his clenching fingers, spasming tight as Bee licked his already hard nipples. He arched up blindly, begging without words and oh, god, worlds of yes.

"Sam?" Optimus voice, echoing up the stairs. "Are you all right?"

"Better answer him," Bee whispered against his belly, his lips tugging busily at the soft hairs there, following their downward trail. "He might come check on you."

Oh, dear God in heaven, that was an entire _universe_ of no. Sam opened his mouth, ready to yell down that he'd be right there and he would have if Bee hadn't chosen that moment to bite his cock through his jeans, the sharp burst of almost-pain withering his words down to a barely verbal yelp.

"Sam?"

Fuck, he sounded closer and Bee was mouthing him through his jeans, deftly tugging open his belt which meant he had about ten seconds before he had a wet, perfect mouth intent on sucking an orgasm out of him. Desperation broke through the lust freezing his vocal cords and Sam managed a weak, "Be right there!"

He might have added more, might've said he was just checking out a few things but his voice cut out with a strangled yelp as Bee laid the flat of his tongue against Sam's cock and licked his way up, swirling little licks against the head.

Frantically, Sam clamped a hand over his mouth, biting hard at his palm as Bee's mouth closed around him in slick, perfect suction and maybe he'd had a twinge for Optimus, his junkie receptors ready to suck energy from any slutty holo wandering around but Bumblebee was the straight deal, the real stuff injected straight through his cock and into his brain and Sam arched up helplessly, felt Bee's strong fingers, gentle at the base of his spine. Holding him up, holding him, and if Sam looked down he knew what he'd see. Sea-green eyes, watching him, glowing ever so faintly in the dimness. Pretty, hell, yes, pretty, and his.

_I love you_, Sam thought, helplessly, felt the brilliant flare of connection between them, felt the pure, sweet love reflected back through it, Bumblebee, always._Always_.

Orgasm hit him like a physical blow and even his hand couldn't stifle his cry, almost a sob as Bumblebee gentled his touch, warm suction dwindling to the simple warmth of a mouth around him. Barely, through the fog of his trembling ecstasy he felt the faintest brush of something unpleasant, the featherlight brush of grief. By the time he recognized it and, then realized it wasn't his own, it was gone and Sam had barely managed to blink, much less question it, before Bee's mouth was on his own.

"Better get back downstairs before Optimus comes looking for you," Bee murmured into his mouth.

"Huh?" Sam managed. Okay, so his IQ took a dip after a good blowjob. It was a perfectly legitimate excuse for a five-minute bout of stupid. "Wait, no."

He was already reaching for Bumblebee with grabby, eager hands, only to reach right through him. Ew, okay, that was just a little creepy and now he was sweaty inside his clothes and sticky at the crotch and probably looked, and smelled, like someone who'd just gotten a hummer in an upstairs closet.

If it weren't for the fact he'd probably die or something without it, Bumblebee would so be sleeping on the couch tonight. Garage. What the hell ever, there were going to be words said the next time he saw a certain 'bot and not all of them were going to be _yes_ and _more_ this time.

To his credit, if Optimus had any idea what had been going on right over his head- and Sam was going to cling to the fantasy that he didn't for as long as he could- he didn't say a word. He looked up at Sam when he came downstairs with that same bland expression he'd worn earlier.

"I hope you're satisfied with the upstairs facilities," Optimus said, with perfect sincerity, his blue eyes innocent of any shimmer of humor.

"Yeah, they're great," Sam strangled out roughly, looking just about anywhere but at the leader of the Autobots who totally knew he'd been upstairs doing dirty, dirty things.

"If you'd like, you can use the rest of your work detail today to start moving your belongings." Optimus leaned against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a casually sexy way but Sam was more than a little relieved that it didn't stir anything inappropriate.

"Actually, I'd rather go back to the infirmary," Sam said, almost absently, "I can move on my own time." He was sure he could guilt Bee into helping him pack and maybe Mikaela wouldn't mind giving them a hand. Not that the soldier boys wouldn't be willing but Sam wasn't sure he wanted strangers poking through his stuff.

Optimus was silent and Sam realized belatedly that he might have hurt his feelings. He'd been offering Sam an opportunity to ditch his work release program for the day and Sam had brushed him off. Not exactly grateful there, was he.

"Very well," Optimus said, finally. "I'll return you now." He didn't sound upset, just sort of neutral and Sam winced.

"Sorry, it's just, I'm supposed to be working—"

"Sam, if half the mechs in the Autobot army had your work ethic, I would call it a miracle," Optimus said wryly. "While all of them demonstrate remarkable ability in battle, they become strangely reluctant when faced with more domestic activities."

"If you're going, would you two hurry up and do it," Sunstreaker snapped out waspishly, his brush flicking with impatient little strokes. "I happen to be _trying_ to work."

"Oh course, Sunstreaker," Optimus said immediately. "And I appreciate you putting your talents towards this project. Your work is exceptional, as always."

Silence. Sunstreaker didn't even glance their way and Optimus didn't wait for a response, only turned back towards the door. Sam followed, giving Sideswipe a little wave before jogging after Optimus and up the stairs.

"Not much for a thank you, is he," Sam muttered under his breath. Mostly.

Not enough to keep Optimus from hearing him and he resigned himself to the knowledge that at least three mechs had heard him getting busy today. It wasn't worth cost to his dignity to think about how many of the rest of them had gotten an audio sample on any other day.

"He has never expressed any form of gratitude to me, or to my knowledge, anyone," Optimus said calmly. He stopped next to his semi-form, leaning against the wheel well. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't express mine."

"I guess not," Sam mumbled. Optimus was looking at him almost curiously, probably wondering why Sam wasn't climbing inside, but Sam hesitated. Standing here at a rare moment when he could actually look Optimus in the eyes made him want to ask a question or two, and once he was inside the cab, surrounded in that awkward reverence, he wasn't sure he could do it. Get it over with, coward, he scolded himself. He was going back to the infirmary, and Ratchet, and if he was going to deal with more of that, he wanted to know at least a little of what the problem was. And, you know, maybe give himself a little time to let the smell of sex wear off. Ratchet probably didn't want a noseful of freshly-sexed up Sam hanging around.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Sam asked, hesitantly. It wasn't like he and Optimus were the kind of friends who had went out for a beer and bitch about their other halves and there was a disturbing image.

Optimus's response was immediate and certain. "You saved my life, Sam. There are very few questions I would consider too personal for you to ask."

Ouch.

"Okay." Took a deep breath, this was just epic levels of weird. "So what's going on with you and Ratchet?"

Long silence. Okay, then, maybe he'd found one of the too personal questions."

"He spoke of it to you?" Optimus asked, curiously. He didn't _sound_ mad.

"He didn't really have to," Sam admitted. "He just—" Sam hesitated. He didn't know what they were fighting about, but damn it, Ratchet was in a bad way, didn't Optimus even see that? And personal issues aside, he was Ratchet's boss, didn't he need to know this stuff?

"It's just that Ratchet is way overworked, he's exhausted, and now you guys are fighting and Ironhide is yelling at him," Sam bit that off because dammit, he wasn't trying to tattle but Ratchet had seemed so…vulnerable. "He needs help and he needs some time off, and I don't understand why you don't do something about it."

"I have tried."

That caught Sam out, "You have?"

A sigh and Optimus ran a frustrated hand through his hair in a gesture that was almost disturbingly human. "Several times now. I have offered Ratchet assistants, which he has refused, I have begged, cajoled, and ordered him to get some rest, which he has ignored. I surreptitiously asked Ironhide to set up a combat training schedule with him that would at least get him to leave the infirmary that has had limited success. My only true accomplishment was insisting that he take you on for your work detail and that is simply because I took advantage of his concern for you."

"If you had to trick him into taking me on, then why did you pull me away today?"

Hesitation and for the first time Optimus looked away from Sam. "Ratchet can be, at times….abrasive," Optimus said delicately. "Much as I wanted to give him some much needed assistance, I also wanted to make sure he wasn't taking out his frustrations on you. You've suffered enough from our actions, Sam."

"I'm fine. Seriously. So, you've been trying to help him? And he's not cooperating is what you're saying."

"Worse," Optimus replied darkly, a flicker of inhuman light in his eyes. "He took on extra work when he volunteered his medical services to the humans. It was, and is, an excellent idea. You yourself took advantage of some of the benefits of our technology."

Sam rubbed his arm thoughtfully, "Yeah, a little bit."

"And we are happy to share it. We want to help your people, but Ratchet took on this extra responsibility at the expense of his own wellbeing."

"Well, crap," Sam mumbled. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping to accomplish by talking to Optimus, but this wasn't it.

"Indeed," Optimus said, and now he sounded tired, slouching back against his own wheel. "I'm afraid I haven't helped him in either a personal or a professional capacity. I had hoped he would allow me to relieve some of the burden he carries. That plan was less successful than most."

"He said that he was having some personal issues," Sam ventured. He kind of hoped he wasn't betraying any confidence but it wasn't as if Ratchet had told him anything.

The smile that curved Optimus's mouth was anything but amused, "I believe the human vernacular would be that he dumped me."

"He broke up with you?" Sam said, disbelieving. What the hell? Then why was Ratchet so…so…

"Insofar as much as he could, considering our level of commitment," Optimus rubbed between his eyes wearily. It made him wonder just how well Optimus was dealing with this, he was the guy who'd gotten dumped, after all. If Ratchet was as torn up about it as he seemed to be, Optimus couldn't be doing all that great and here he was, carrying Sam around, going on with his duties. That little tingle of guilt Sam had felt earlier levered up a notch but, really, what else could Optimus do? Hang around and cry on someone's shoulder? Get drunk and pass out in the main courtyard? Being leader sounded like it sucked.

And yet Optimus only looked faintly tired as he said, gravely, "Sam, I would prefer that we keep this conversation between ourselves. For all that Ratchet has no issues discussing physical intimacy, when he comes to his emotional status, he does not like to be the subject of discussion."

"Gotcha. I won't say anything to him," Said agreed, a little too eagerly. There was no way in hell he wanted to chat with Ratchet about this.

"Thank you," Optimus smiled, okay, he was still pretty hot. What was Ratchet thinking? "And thank you for assisting him."

"I like Ratchet. He's my friend," Sam said, firmly. He meant it. From the sounds of it, Ratchet needed a good friend and if he was the only one Ratchet was willing to accept help from, then Sam would give it.

"And that is just what he needs. It's getting Ratchet to accept what he needs that is the challenge."

"Well, I can tell you that he doesn't need Ironhide to be yelling at him," Sam muttered. He was still a little pissed about that.

"I have already spoken to Ironhide. He has agreed to leave Ratchet alone. On this subject, anyway," Optimus amended.

"What's up with you two, anyway? Ratchet seems like he's really upset by all of this, so why did he do it?"

Optimus made a noncommittal noise, like maybe Sam was getting to the edge of his willingness to talk about it. "It's not my place to say. Although all things considered, one would hope Ratchet is at least fond of me," he added, wryly.

"What about you? I mean-" Okay, this was getting to the edge of _Sam's_ willingness to chat about it. It was also the middle of the day and they were standing outside in the sweltering hear. Maybe his reverence for Optimus's cab wasn't that sacred, he did have great air conditioning...

"Am I fond of him?" Optimus asked, a little dryly. "No. I can say decisively that I am not fond of Ratchet."

Ok, _ouch_. That was a little harsh.

But Optimus wasn't finished. "I love him and more than that, I adore him. If I thought he'd allow it, I'd raise him up to the level of my partner and let him enjoy the few benefits our kind still enjoy with that privilege. What is in my power to give him, I would, if he'd let me. He is the friend and the mate I have always and never known, and I would offer him my spark, my soul, if I thought he would accept it. Fond is far too pale a word for what I feel."

Damn. Hot and he had a way with words, didn't he. Seriously, what was Ratchet's _deal_?

"If he'd let you is the trouble there, isn't it," Sam asked, shrewdly.

"Ratchet rarely allows anyone to make a choice for him," Optimus moved to catch the door handle, opening the driver's side in a not very subtle hint for Sam to climb inside. Cool air washed over him pleasantly and Sam sighed happily, leaning back against the leather seat. Optimus shut the door before dissolving his holo and his next words came through the speaker, faintly tinny and thankfully a lot less sexy. "It's rarer still for him to change his mind when he's made a choice."

A choice like, say, dumping the mech who was professing his undying love. Kee-rist, and Sam had thought his life was a loaded clusterfuck.

"I'm sorry," Sam said with quiet sincerity, resting his hands lightly on the wheel.

"Your sympathies are appreciated but unnecessary," Optimus said, with his same calmness. Much calmer than Sam would be if Bumblebee handed him his walking papers. "He may yet change his mind. As I recently said to Ironhide, I have time. I can wait."

Wait and see if the mech he loved would agree to love him back. Forget fighting skills, Optimus obviously had deeper strengths than Sam could ever hope to have in anything, and now they were driving back for another round of awkward mincing around only this time, Sam knew what it was about.

Okay, then, he'd deal with this and he'd help Ratchet out any way that he could. Optimus might think that they owed Sam for life saving and all that, but what Optimus couldn't seem to get was that Sam owed them, so much, because without them he'd wouldn't have Decepticons trying to kill him, true, but he also wouldn't have Bumblebee, he wouldn't have his cool new place, his friends here, he wouldn't have any of this.

Helping out Ratchet? Yeah, he could do that. Forget owing anybody anything, forget that savior crap. Sam was calling them even.

tbc


	33. Interlude 1,  Twins: Creation Myth

Interlude #1  
Twins; Creation Myth

* * *

It had been a long, long time, longer than Sideswipe cared to consider, since they'd done anything so...domestic. For a being on work detail it had been gratifying to do something as simple as paint, letting his processors wind down and enjoy the easy rhythm of the brush, making these quarters into a home, if not for him than for someone he cared about, at least. Sam's pleasure had warmed Sideswipe in a way that he hadn't even been aware that he needed until he'd been filled with the boy's sweet delight, his easy and uncomplicated emotions plain for anyone to see.

Leaning against the wall, Sideswipe watched his brother paint and thought ruefully that easy and uncomplicated were never going to be words that described his life.

For all that, he took a moment to simply enjoy watching, the light, flickering brushstrokes that transformed the plain wall into art, each detail caught with such exquisite care that Sideswipe had often thought when he looked at his brother's work that it might be possible to step into the picture, into that life. A sunset, the colors woven together with so much skill that it seemed warmth should fill the room. A waterfall from a long-dead world, recreated in pigments and so lifelike that it was only missing the liquid, roaring thunder of the cascade. Even the abstracts, the harrowing images that spoke of the darkness in Sunstreaker's spark were so vivid as to incite nightmares in unwary mechs, or they had years ago, before a war had shown them all true horrors.

There was no questioning Sunstreaker was talented and it was only soured when a mech realized that _Sunstreaker_ knew just how talented he really was as well.

It didn't matter, had long since ceased to spoil Sunstreaker's art for him. Right now, Sideswipe was taking his pleasure in watching the picture slowly form; the birth of a creation. Tempting as it was to tell Sunstreaker just how good his most recent piece was, Sideswipe knew his brother's reaction wouldn't be one of pleasure. Bitterness, perhaps, about his talents reduced to family portraits, or possibly worse and it wouldn't be the first time Sunstreaker had destroyed one of his own paintings in a fit of pique, and back then he'd had less reason.

Instead, Sideswipe shifted his feet, deliberately, drawing Sunstreaker's distracted attention. "Come on, we're off shift."

"Just a few more minutes," Sunstreaker said absently, another bare flicker of his brush against the wall, minuscule changes that nonetheless perfected his work. "I'm almost done. Go on without me."

Ah. Yes. Leave Sunstreaker alone in Sam's new quarters; Sam, who Sunstreaker seemed to have mixed feelings for, at best. Sam who was not only Bumblebee's partner but had on more than one occasion had his very human hands on both of them.

And Sunstreaker wanted to be alone here. Right.

Optimus hadn't expressly told Sideswipe to keep an eye on his twin but somehow, going on his merry way while Sunstreaker stayed behind seemed like a phenomenally bad idea.

"I can wait for you," Sideswipe said with careful casualness, settling down to sit on the floor.

Not that he could hide his throb of concern from his twin, especially not now, their sparks so brilliantly attuned to each other in the aftermath of their interfacing. "You aren't on babysitting duty," Sunstreaker said dryly. "I'll behave."

There wasn't a hint in the link between them that Sunstreaker was anything less than sincere, but then, he'd always been the better liar. "Do you ever behave?"

A moment of perfect stillness, and then Sideswipe could only watch with growing wariness as Sunstreaker set his brush carefully aside, taking the time to swirl it through the cleansing solution before he turned to face his twin, the deep glowing blue of his optics cutting through the growing dimness. Night was falling outside, the light through the skylights was dusky and thin, and Sideswipe watched mutely as his brother crawled towards him with easy, sinuous grace.

"No," Sunstreaker murmured, without a hint of irony, the hot rush of vented air sweeping over Sideswipe's faceplates. "That's why I have you."

The press of their lips together as mechs was as strange as it was arousing, the slick taste of their lubricants instead of saliva, and Sideswipe couldn't help a soft whimper, his vocalizer stuttering against a sudden rush of need.

With a shove, he pushed Sunstreaker down, dimly heard the thick metal squeal of their armor scraping together and for once, his brother didn't protest the damage to his finish, only smirked up at him. "You can't fuck me like this."

True enough; the things he wanted, needed to do he couldn't manage as a mech. The Decepticons thought that holos were a perversion, a corruption of their true form that was punishable by death and sometimes Sideswipe wondered if they weren't just a little correct. It was a perversion but pushing his focus into one, feeling his brother's form beneath his own and already on his knees...it stirred a need in Sideswipe that could only be filled with this.

Bending his brother beneath him, feeling cool, bare skin against his own and Sideswipe didn't have to wait for anything as basic as preparation, simply spread Sunstreaker out and took. Took his body, the tight flesh clenching around his cock like bliss, took the sweet, choked cries that his brother gave him, little whimpers that spoke of equal parts pain and pleasure.

Sideswipe ran soothing hands down the silky pale skin of Sunstreaker's back, closed his eyes against his own rush of gratification as his brother let him, let him do more than simply fuck him, take him. Let Sideswipe stroke him, all the implied emotions in those gentle touches sweeping over them both. On their knees in a home that wasn't their own, Sideswipe took his twin, his other half, and everything he'd ever wanted was right here, now, just within his reach.

Slow, careful thrusts into the tight clasp of Sunstreaker's body, Sideswipe rocking into him with gentleness that was rarely allowed, until Sunstreaker was cursing him, squirming with desperation and finally he quickened the pace, reaching beneath his brother's hip to palm his cock in a firm grip, rubbing his thumb over the slick head just to hear his brother gasp.

They were both close, riding the razor edge of climax and when Sunstreaker stiffened against him, his moan slipping free from between gritted teeth, Sideswipe followed, holding his brother tightly enough to cause a bruise reaction in his receptors.

_I love you_, he sent, helplessly, felt the faint echo brush against him before Sunstreaker closed him out, letting only the barest trickle of emotion stream through their link as the two of them collapsing together in a slick heap but it was enough.

It would have to be enough.

TBC


	34. Interlude 2, Ratchet: Internal Whispers

Interlude #2  
Internal Whispers

Notes: This is not set in the current timeline, but some short time before it. Don't worry, it'll make sense.

* * *

The first warm pulse of pleasure was like a wash of solar energy over him, caressing his firewalls with such intimate familiarity that Ratchet allowed it to slither through without even a token protest.

He should have verified identity, he knew, even deep in recharge his processors scolded him for allowing in a unknown presence, familiar or not, but his carelessness was rewarded with a clean, sweet delight, curling deeply enough into him that Ratchet moaned, his vocalizer online before his reboot had even completed.

His processors were still sluggish, warming up slowly enough to be a concern but his database confirmed that he was awaking from a particularly deep and necessary recharge. Every mech needed a good defrag from time to time, and he was no exception. It felt good, like a long, deep stretch and that combined with the sensual pulses inside him made Ratchet decide he'd be happy to spend the entire day just like this, awareness slowly filtering in along with the rising thrum of pleasure.

True speech was still beyond him and instead, Ratchet made a soft hum, a sigh that deepened into another groan as the warm presence in his processor laughed, sent another trill along his neural net, and oh, that felt good. It would be just like Wheeljack to wake him like this after a long defrag, sweet, sly little pulses that traveled through his newly sensitized sensors and back, the echo reverberating until Ratchet shuddered, letting his recharge cycles fade and his awareness increase.

He reached automatically, sending back his own sleepy desire to wind through their interface, tangling them together with deeper intimacy and the bright happiness that flooded into him from it made him stutter internally, almost tipping over the edge from that alone. So like him, Wheeljack was the same, inside and out, and that brilliant, perfect enthusiasm cupped itself around Ratchet's internals like a well-loved, familiar tool.

His final reboot protocol finalized as Ratchet gasped again, finally able to move enough to clutch at the arms surrounding him. Words tumbled through him, begging to be spoken and he finally settled on a name, was on the edge of saying it aloud as his optics finally come online, his vocalizer only just seizing it in time before it could tip into the air and shatter around them.

Optimus was leaning over him, the brilliant blue of his optic half-shuttered, flickering faintly from the throb of ecstasy that was building between them. Optimus had woken him with a connection, Optimus was making needy, breathy little sounds that made Ratchet push back harder, wanting more, deftly coiling their link into his control and Optimus allowed him, always, their leader in everything but he gladly gave Ratchet the power in this. Let him increase the pulse between them, let him turn gentle, ghostly internal touches into something a little rougher, needier. Let him do whatever Ratchet wanted, to him, and in the darkest, most shameful corners of his processors, Ratchet occasionally wondered just how far he could go, just how much Optimus would allow before finally telling him enough.

He could close his optics, again, just this one time. He could pretend and if Ratchet cried aloud a name that wasn't his own, Optimus would never say a word of protest, would pull that exquisite pain inward like he always had. Always did.

_I am not Megatron!_ Ratchet didn't, would never, say.

Instead, he swallowed back Wheeljack's name, buried it deep in his processors with the bitter darkness of his disappointment and whispered, pleadingly, "Optimus."

TBC


	35. Interlude 3, Bumblebee: Human Protocols

Interlude #3  
Bumblebee; Human Protocols

* * *

The automatic door needed just a touch of lubricant, Bee noted absently as he pulled into his brand new garage. The new mechanism had the faintest squeal to it and Bee wanted it to run as smoothly as possible. Being that he was often coming and going throughout the night, he wanted to be able to go through the door without waking Sam every time.

Their new quarters were large enough for him to transform and move around, albeit somewhat limitedly, but Bumblebee didn't bother, letting his holoform bounce eagerly from his driver's side door. Sam wasn't back yet and Bee wanted to be waiting for him when he got here. Optimus had given him leave for the next two days, to 'help Sam move into his new quarters', yeah, right, and he fully intended to use those two days well, starting tonight. Their little adventure in the closet this afternoon had barely taken the edge off (and Bee reminded himself to thank Ratchet for his snarky little message that he might consider a refueling break while Sam was out) and more than that, he wanted to spend a little time with Sam, wanted to talk to him or simply hold him without a bunch of receptors clamoring through the boy for energy. He just wanted Sam.

Focused on his thoughts and eagerness as he was, Bumblebee nearly leapt in surprise as a soft voice spoke out of the darkened living room.

"Spending a lot of your time working, aren't you, busy little Bee. I hope you're not neglecting your little pet."

Sinuous, familiar voice and Bumblebee stiffened, enhancing his vision until he could see the shape of a human crouched on the floor, his hands hanging loosely between his legs. What the hell was Sunstreaker doing here in a holoform? He'd seen Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as mechs not ten minutes ago, far enough away that he was distantly impressed the Sunstreaker was managing to keep the holo together. Very well together, if the graceful way he stood was any indication.

"Why are you here?" Bee demanded, not deigning to answer what wasn't a real questions, much less one that deserved a reply. Not that a holoform could hurt him and Sam's quarters had been carefully designed to keep out all but the most formidable of attacks so Sunstreaker's real body wasn't about to come bursting through the walls anytime soon.

"Oh, I was simply finishing my mural," Sunstreaker gestured carelessly towards the stairs. "I so enjoy my talents being reduced to pet portraits."

"Maybe you can start a side business," Bee snapped. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Sunstreaker's casual tone and posture only made Bumblebee all the warier. "To be honest, I was waiting for you. It came to me today that I've saved both you and your little human's lives recently."

As if Sunstreaker could have forgotten. "If you're expecting payment for doing your duty, you should talk to Optimus. I'm sure he'd raise to your energon ration."

Sunstreaker sighed, sounding greatly put upon and Bee's sensors prickled with annoyance. "Payment in exchange for life? How crass."

"I've seen what kind of repayment you prefer." Just thinking about it send a flare of hot temper through Bumblebee and he forced it away deliberate, keeping his calm. Optimus had been right about one thing, Bumblebee could do better than allowing Sunstreaker to goad him into a stupid fight and they might not be able to damage each other but they could do a hell of a lot of damage to Sam's new quarters. Putting them back together was not the way Bee wanted to spend their first night together.

"He told you?" Sunstreaker raised a dark eyebrow.

"Call it an educated guess. He rewarded you for saving me and you rewarded him by breaking his arm."

If the truth of that upset Sunstreaker, it didn't show. He only folded his arms over his chest, lowering his gaze briefly to the floor as he considered before, finally, he said, "I want you to stay away from my brother."

That was what this was about? Anger was fighting to be let loose and he thought of Sideswipe, curled up on the ground and begging Bee not to leave him alone. "According to your deal with Sam, any debt I have to you is paid," Bumblebee said coolly, "Aside from that, the last I knew, Sideswipe was in full control of his faculties. He can make his own decisions about who he wants near him."

It was extremely satisfying to say, even knowing that Sam had been hurt by it. There was nothing Bumblebee could do about that and he knew that Sam didn't _want_ him to do anything. But it had still happened and if Bumblebee had needed any other reasons to hate Sunstreaker, the past few days had given him his pick.

Any trace of smirking amusement left Sunstreaker's face and to Bumblebee's surprise, he shifted restlessly, pushing a visibly shaking hand through his hair in a gesture of distress.

He'd never seen Sunstreaker as anything other than insufferably overconfident...this was...something else. Abruptly, he remember that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had just reopened their bonds and that Sunstreaker had been blocking his brother out. Perhaps he was more affected by that than he let on. Certainly Sideswipe had been a mess, it was possible that Sunstreaker simply hid it better and now he was standing here, trying to feebly bargain a way to keep Bumblebee away...

Sunstreaker had always been a bastard but Bumblebee never had.

With a sigh, Bumblebee said, "The only thing I want from Sideswipe is his friendship. It's all I've ever wanted. Stay away from Sam and I'll stay just friends with him."

Instantly, Sunstreaker's dark eyes narrowed and he stalked closer, too close, deliberately putting himself well into Bumblebee's field of comfort.

"Good." Cool disdain and he turned away. Bumblebee relaxed a fraction. The last thing he wanted was for Sunstreaker to ruin he and Sam's first night in their new quarters and if it got rid of him, all the better. Not like Bumblebee wanted anything but friendship from Sideswipe anyway-

He started to turn away and a hand on his wrist stopped him, too startled to protest when he was pulled into a tight embrace and a cold mouth closed over his own. Shocked, Bumblebee stood frozen and it was only the slick, cool brush of Sunstreaker's tongue over his own that jolted him into violent movement, lashing out with his fist directly into Sunstreaker's offending mouth.

Hands clenched into fists and he pulled up short when he saw Sunstreaker sprawled on the floor. Blood was trickling from his mouth in a thin line, brilliant crimson against the paleness of his skin. That was not in Bumblebee's programming on the human form. Realism was one thing and while they were all capable of synthesizing a replica of bodily fluid, Bumblebee was on the side of that being a bit much. It didn't bother him with Sam, he was supposed to be filled with organic juiciness but seeing it on Sunstreaker was disturbing.

It meant that Sunstreaker had altered the protocols so that he _could_ bleed and while Bumblebee watched, dark emotions churning through him, Sunstreaker wiped away the thin ribbon of blood, licking it from the tips of his fingers.

"Just sealing our agreement, Little Bee," Sunstreaker said, his smile anything but amused. Bee flinched as Sunstreaker reached out, running one bloodied finger down Bee's cheek before stepped quickly back, towards the door.

"Don't forget to lock the door," Sunstreaker called softly.

Mocking him, bastard never changed, but as soon as the door swung shut, Bumblebee coded the lock. He scrubbed at his cheek, then his mouth, with the back of his hand until his lips felt raw but he couldn't wipe away the memory, the icy feel of Sunstreaker's mouth on his own.

But Sam would be here soon and there was no rule that he had to think about it forever, now was there. Sam was warm and sweet, and alive, and thinking about him settled the last of Bumblebee's shaken thoughts. Instead, he focused on Sam and tonight, their first night together in a real home.

And if he avoided looking at the portrait under the stairs, there was no one else here to notice.

TBC


	36. Interlude 4, Prowl: Safekeeping

Interlude #4  
Prowl; Safekeeping

* * *

Working in the garages was filthy work and by the end of each day, Mikaela was in desperate need of a shower. Or so she told Prowl, every day, and he agreed with quiet amusement, following her back to her quarters.

Not theirs, not his, though he stayed there every night. He had his own quarters, if he wanted, halfway across the city, much too far away. He had never recharged in them. By his calculations, the odds were far too great she would be long dead before he could reach her in the middle of an attack. Unacceptable. He recharged outside, in front of her door, his sensors on constant low-level alert.

Prowl hadn't allowed her out of his sensor range since her little excursion to the city.

He followed her into her quarters without comment, watched as she stripped away her filthy work clothes and tossed them into a basket with others. She didn't ask him to join her, offered nothing more than a look over her shoulder that if one were kind, might be called coy.

Prowl wasn't noted for his kindness. He called it _hungry_ and the water from the shower was barely warm before he pushed her under it, soaping away the grime of the workshop briskly before he finally kissed her. Pressed her against the cool, wet tiles and tasted the clean blandness of her skin, cupping his hands over the softness of her breasts to tease at the nipples with his thumbs.

It had been some time since he'd been with an organic being, since before he had bonded to Jazz but Prowl suspected he would have wanted this little human from the moment they'd met, no matter the circumstances. Equal parts strong and sweet, fiery, he might have called her, only to himself. He would have wanted to touch and taste her no matter how they had met.

Jazz wouldn't have minded. Point of fact, Jazz would have begged to join in or at least for the chance to watch.

He had never asked for, nor expected, monogamy from Jazz. It wasn't who he was; Jazz loved sharing physical pleasure, with mechs and organics, just as likely to offer a casual interface as he was a smile. He had been nearly as skilled with holoforms as Bumblebee but had none of the younger's qualms about forms. Male, female, the occasional asexual species, Jazz changed his sensor arrays as casually as other mechs did their color. His physical form so utterly available, to anyone.

It was his spark, his love, that was...had been...reserved for Prowl alone. Prowl had never considered asking for more.

Were Jazz here right now, he would have no uncertainties about running his hands over Mikaela's slick skin, would have relished every gasp she gave. He might have looked up with a cheeky grin, might have licked and kissed every inch of her skin before venturing to the places that glowed with urgent heat.

Jazz was not here, could not be here, and so Prowl knelt instead on the hard tile in front of her and spread her legs, kissing between them. Here, there was some small human taste, not all of it washed away in soapy bubbles. Here he could taste warm sweetness, feel her delicate flesh tremble against his tongue as he pressed it against her.

Slim fingers tightened into his hair and through the rush of water, Prowl could hear Mikaela's sounds, base and tight, urgent as he spread her legs further and licked deep inside, caught her thighs in both hands and lifted her easily. So wet, with more than just the water pouring from the showerhead and it was so purely organic, the soft taste of her. A low growl escaped from him and Mikaela squirmed in his grip, pleading silently for more.

Sweet, pretty little human. Eager to share her body and to take any pleasure that Prowl offered. A faint reminisces of Jazz, but Mikaela was no substitute. Prowl neither wanted nor needed one, content to take her as she was.

But oh, Jazz would have loved to watch this and a memory was murmuring through Prowl's processors, Jazz's sly voice teasing him into sliding a finger inside her, feel her slick muscles clench around him as she tensed and whimpered, skin flushed with more than just the heat of the shower.

She fell limp into his arms and Prowl leaned back against the wall, bracing her with his knees as he slid into the welcoming heat of her body.

_I'll keep you safe_, Prowl promised, only to himself, embedding the command into his databanks. _I won't fail you_. Slowly, Mikaela roused, the sated lines of her face tightening again into need as she slowly began to rock in his lap, the water still pouring its liquid warmth over them.

_I'll keep you safe. I can keep you safe. I can._

Safe.

-finis-


	37. Interlude 5, Sam: Dreamscape

Interlude #5  
Sam; Dreamscape

* * *

Human vision was dependent on visible light. Sam had learned that much in science class although how much he actually remembered of it was up for debate. Not that he needed anyone to explain to him that he couldn't see in the dark, not when he was sitting in the middle of it and it was a distant point, only important because he couldn't see _them_.

Old science lessons weren't nearly as important as basic mathematics, two plus two equals four and four hands on him meant twins. Identical by his own touch; no obscenely red hair coupled with an easy grin, no glittering dark eyes paired with equally black hair, nothing but wandering hands and mouths.

It was their hands that revealed them, Sideswipe's warmer, slim fingers moving over Sam's bare skin, wandering down his chest. Colder hands on his shoulders, icy touches stroking up his neck to his cheeks and the mouth that covered his own was no warmer, the slick tongue parting his lips to tease at his own. Sam tipped his head up, pushing into it harder than he'd meant, a bite more than a kiss, but Sunstreaker only bit him back, hard enough that the warm taste of blood seeped into his mouth, chasing away the chilliness of the kiss.

The full press of a body behind him made Sam moan into the mouth still on his, arms around him, bare skin against him from his shoulders to his thighs. Sam squirmed against it, heard Sideswipe mumble little curses into his shoulder blade as his hands slid lower, fingertips grazing against Sam's belly as they drifted down between his legs.

No…Sam couldn't say it, gasping soundlessly as he locked his fingers desperately around Sideswipe's wrists but he couldn't stop Sunstreaker, outnumbered in everything but especially in hands, cool hands that slid around the heavy heat of his erection, stroking down the length and then back up on a loose, teasing grip.

"So eager," Sunstreaker crooned into his mouth, teeth as sharp as his tone, biting again at Sam's lips until he winced and twisted his head away, only to be caught by a warmer, gentler mouth, a tender press of tongue that soothed away any pain caused by his twin.

It was easy, too easy, to relax into those touches, to arch his hips into the easy rhythm of the hands surrounding him, so much so that it was a shock when he was roughly pulled away and pushed to his knees. Those cold hands sudden gripping his jaw painfully and a voice hissing in his ear, colder than his touch could ever be, "Open your mouth, human."

The last word was spat out, a truth and an insult all in one, and Sam whimpered, not afraid, not really, but he did it, let his lips part as the wet tip of a cock pressed against them. Gentler than he'd expected, coaxing rather than forcing and a warmer hand cupped his cheek, made him relax. Sideswipe, then. Sideswipe had seen him do this much to Bumblebee and Sam moaned at the memory of Sideswipe whispering instructions to him, telling him how fast, how hard, until Bumblebee had been begging and Sideswipe had been trembling next to them, feeling everything but the release.

No whispers this time, only the sound of an indrawn breath as Sideswipe batted his brother's hand away and moved, so gently, sliding into the eager wetness of Sam's mouth with shocking tenderness. They were a contrast, juxtaposition in both color and touch.

Sunstreaker was pushing his knees apart almost roughly, hard hands on his hips tilting them, positioning him, Sam realized. _No_, he couldn't say, not with Sideswipe's hands cupping his head firmly, holding him still for gentle thrusts, _no, I don't want this, don't want you—_

A muffled shriek escaped him at the feel of a tongue sliding down the cleft of his ass. Sideswipe gasped above him, his fingers tightening, and Sam nearly choked at a too-hard bump against the back of his throat. Immediately, Sideswipe backed off, but the tremble in his thighs gave lie to any sense of restraint and his twin had none at all, his tongue strong and slick, matching his brother's rhythm.

Between the two of them, four sets of hands and two bodies surrounding him, Sam couldn't move, could only whimper and squirm as Sunstreaker licked at him, the grip on his hips uncompromising. The two of them groaned in unnerving unison, paired together even in this and Sam dimly remembered seeing the two of them together, Sunstreaker on his knees just like Sam was now.

He whimpered, helplessly, as Sunstreaker pulled away, slithering up until he could bite as Sam's neck, his hands tangling with his brother's against Sam's cheek.

"I'm going to fuck you, you know that, don't you, little human?" Breathed against his ear and Sam felt wetness on his own face, couldn't move enough to shake his head, couldn't stop working his tongue around the hard cock moving against it "I'm going to fuck you and he's going to let me. He_wants_ to let me."

No. Sideswipe...was wordless but not silent, whimpering out ragged, desperate sounds, he was close, so close, and Sunstreaker's laugh was as cold as his touch. "He barely stopped me once, don't you remember? None of you ever remember, he is my other half and still, you trust him, don't you. But you can't have_ him_ without me. And..." a wet nuzzle against his ear. "You are a very enticing, little pet."

No. Bumblebee...where was Bee? He loved Bee, he loved...but he was spreading his legs even as his brain shrieked denial, even as Sideswipe moaned above him and Sunstreaker shifted to kneel between his thighs, the hot press of his cock against him. Sam wanted to beg, wanted to plead but he no longer knew what for. The pressure was rising, Sideswipe's voice deteriorating into a constant moan and Sunstreaker pressing against him, lingering, leaning his weight in and each little almost thrust was driving Sam mad, do it, don't do it, do it-

"No!" Sam shrieked aloud, the damp tangle of the sheets around him almost sent him off the edge of the bed, until a strong hand caught him and reeled him back in against a bare chest. Almost, he struggled, still half caught in a dream, until he caught sight of a face in the dawn light creeping through the skylights, concerned green eyes surrounded by a mass of blond hair. Bumblebee. Christ almighty, thank you, Sam thought fervently, even as he sank into Bee's arms.

"Sam? Are you all right?" Bee asked, hushed, even as he gently petted Sam's back, his fingers tacky with Sam's drying sweat.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "Yeah, just a fucked up dream."

Bee hummed a soft sigh, and his hands were warm, gentle. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Worlds of no, not with that still vivid and glowing behind his eyes, and Sam was abruptly aware that he just about as hard as a rock, to hell with anything as feeble as morning wood. Without a word, he twisted out of Bee's arms, barely noticed the surprise in his eyes before Sam was kissing him, rougher than he'd meant but Bee responded instantly, met Sam's eagerness with own even as he pushed Sam back onto the bed, pushing easily between Sam's legs.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "Fuck me. Please..."

Whatever else he might have said, begged, was swallowed into Bee's mouth as he gave himself up to a warmer touch.

tbc


	38. Interlude 6,  Ironhide: Restless

Interlude #6

Ironhide; Restless

Notes: Probably my last Interlude before we go back to the actual storyline, but hey, it was fun and this one actually hints towards the plot of the next chapter. ^_^

* * *

Technically, Ironhide was off-duty. Had been for hours. He'd passed off Sunstreaker onto Prime without a hitch, not that he had too much trouble with the kid. Yeah, sure, he was crazy as tin bone collector, but frankly, Ironhide had known worse. Probably was worse, from time to time.

But yeah, off-duty, except his processors never could relax enough for him to recharge unless he did a quick recon of an area. Call it habit, a fixation, call it fucking OCD, didn't matter, only he'd just as soon not waste time trying to coax himself into recharge when he could alleviate the problem with a quick patrol of the city. Wasn't like it would take long.

Some of the younger 'bots viewed their new home dismally, he knew, not that any of them dared express that opinion to him, since past experience had taught them that Ironhide would just tell 'em exactly how far they should cram it up their tailpipes. At least they had their ramshackle little base; he'd lived in far far worse, and just what were the whiny little princesses expecting, red carpets and shining thrones? Cybertron had been the result of millions of years of creation and work, they weren't about to recreate that in a few months with steel beams and aluminum siding on some backwater little planet that hadn't even managed to make housing for all the native humans yet.

Anyone he heard bitching about accommodations got a boot up their backsides and an extra work shift. Ironhide was always happy to give a 'bot something real to whine about.

The streets were fairly quiet, most of the Autobots followed the human time schedules and recharged at night. Ironhide cruised silently through the stillness. He didn't bother venturing into the human side. Not that he disliked the humans, just that their quarters were far enough away not to be in his mental perimeter. Their own personal humans on the other hand, even Lennox who kept his quarters close to the Autobot sector, were well within his parameters and he charted a course to take him past each one, his sensor pulse inspecting each one.

Sam's quarters were too reinforced for him to get any readings but it didn't take any kind of perverse telepath to know what those two were doing, medical orders be damned. Ironhide had gotten an audial full of them plenty of times before medical interfacing had become a necessity.

He drove on, past the rickety quarters that belonged to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker...both were inside, according to his scanners. Not that they'd had much occasion to be separated. Trust Optimus to actually let the twins work together when they were supposed to be on separate duty.

Prime was too damned soft sometimes.

Ironhide slowed briefly, checking his scans with a wince before speeding away. Their quarters were practically bathed in hot scent of ionized plasma, the sign of a well-abused holoform. Didn't take three guesses to figure out what they were doing either.

The little human Mikaela's quarters were further down the road and with a growing sense of expectant horror, Ironhide let his olfactory sensors scan the area, keeping his distance this time. He still reeled with the flood of sensual data over his transduction sensors. By sweet bareheaded Primus, was there anyone on this base who wasn't three cycles to or from an overload? It was kinda surprising that they all weren't wading knee deep in organic fluids and lubricants by now.

To hell with this, patrol was supposed to be helping him relax his processors so that he could recharge, not overstimulated them. He was too damned old to be tooling around with his circuits overheated.

He transformed, hoping that the walk back to his quarters would let him get a little fresh air in his vents. Taller standing, he noticed that the lights in the Infirmary were still blazing and Ironhide frowned, weighing possibilities. He'd grudgingly promised Optimus to let Ratchet alone about their personal issues...for now.

But he and Ratchet had been friends for a long, long time, and the weight of their disagreement was heavy in his processors. Not that he regretted telling Ratchet what he'd damn well needed to hear, but...eh, it was Ratchet. Asking him to not be stubborn was like asking the laws of gravity if they wouldn't mind taking a day off, would ya please. Besides, Ratchet usually had a stash of high-grade energon hidden away and Ironhide was of a mind to beg for a drink, anything to get his processors off the nightly porn rendition that his allies were engaging in.

At best, he and Ratchet could have a little chat and at worst, he'd get a wrench lodged up his tailpipe.

Eh, he'd had worse.

Decision made, Ironhide went to the infirmary. Maybe he could persuade the old rustbucket into taking a break, at least, get some of that high-grade and relax for a change. It could happen.

Ironhide already had a hand on the door handle when a thin, high wail came from inside, and he halted abruptly, straining his audio sensors.

No. It couldn't be.

It could. Oh, jumping one-legged Primus, he had to see this.

In perfect silence, Ironhide pushed open the door just enough to peer inside, scanning with his optics until he caught sight of the writhing pile of metal in the corner. Ratchet's paint was brilliant gloss under the high intensity infirmary lights but the contrast of Optimus against him clashed horribly, blue and red against neon green and Ironhide cycled his optics, narrowing them.

Half the infirmary and several medical berths were between them but for all that, it was still one hell of a view, the two of them on the floor and Ratchet in Optimus's lap, his head tipped back and mouth open. Whatever the hell they were doing, it wasn't a normal pleasurable interface. Ironhide enhanced his vision, trying, and failing, to get a decent view. Figured. It was always the old ones who got kinky and Ironhide would bet a dozen cubes of pure energon that Ratchet had a brutally creative imagination.

Optimus gasped, arching up with a squeal of scraping metal, then moaned at an impressively high pitch and the sudden wash of overload pheromones over Ironhide was enough to make him scuttle backwards, letting the door swing shut as he shuddered, his own circuits whining into redline heat.

Well, fuck. Or rather, no fucking, not for him. Didn't look like recharge was going on his schedule anytime soon, either.

Grumpily, he stomped away, uncaring if the heavy tread woke half the city. Seemed like they were all awake anyway, Primus damned sex fiends.

Soft steps came from behind him and Ironhide stiffened, swinging towards the footsteps. The human thought he was being quiet.

"'Hide? What are you doing still up?" A familiar voice spoke up, just as Ironhide's sensors confirmed identity.

Lennox. Ironhide relaxed.

"Could ask you the same thing," Ironhide grumbled, but he sank down the ground with a groan of depressurizing hydraulics.

"I was on my way to my quarters when I saw you stomping around," Lennox smiled, his gaze slightly quizzical. "Anything wrong? I thought Jolt and Arcee were on patrol tonight."

There was a mental image. Three on one, a myriad of colors writhing together, and Ironhide shivered.

Lennox's gaze sharpened. That human was entirely too clever for his own good.

Ironhide finally muttered. "Just restless tonight."

"Yeah, I hear you. You can come back to my quarters, if you want. Hang out a while."

Ironhide shuttered his optics once, twice, and gave his human friend a speculative look. Could he possibly...Ironhide snorted aloud, reeled his wayward processors back in. Ridiculous, the human wasn't putting off even a hint of sexual arousal; he was only offering to spend a little time with a comrade-in-arms.

"All right," Ironhide agreed, warily. He'd come to enjoy spending time with the humans and this one in particular. Lennox was one of their strongest supporters on this planet, had proven with his own blood and sweat to be a brother to them and Ironhide was no hypocrite; organic friends were no different than any other and since Lennox had dissolved his partnership to his bonded, their friendship had only grown. It would be no different than hanging out with Ratchet, with the exception of the high-grade.

With a tired grunt, he stood and then transformed before forming a holo, not that he'd settled on an appearance for his yet. He'd liked the last one well enough, particularly the nervous glances from the other humans, but it had still itched at him, not quite a good fit. Ironhide had given that one up as a bad job and formed his latest attempt, frowning when Lennox's heart literally skipped a beat.

"What?" Ironhide frowned, looking down at his form. It had been Arcee who had suggested that he expand his test parameters and this one had seemed like a good choice; he'd found the movie endlessly amusing, and modeling his new form after the Sarah Conner had seemed both a reasonable attempt and a humorous one. Perhaps he'd misjudged the breast size?

"Nothing," Lennox choked out but his gaze was suddenly keener and the tickle of human pheromones rising was unmistakable.

Well, now.

"Let's go, then," Ironhide said, pitching his modified voice into something a little huskier. Bee wasn't the only one who could play with the humans, he thought triumphantly, slinging an innocently friendly arm around Lennox's shoulders.

After all, there were better ways to relax into recharge than patrol.

TBC


	39. Limitations of Reasonable Discourse

Limitations of Reasonable Discourse

by Keelywolfe

Ratchet/Optimus

* * *

Exhaustion was getting to be so common for Ratchet that he thought soon his possessors would set that as his default state, the lingering static of under-recharge a constant presence.

It might make it better if it was; at least then he could stop shuffling aside the friendly warning reminders that popped up in his visual display, informing him of how long it had been since his last recharge and recommending he take a break. Once, as a prank, Sideswipe had designed a program that altered the language of Ratchet's visual display and the first time Ratchet had seen his user interface command him to 'take a fucking break, you moron,' he had nearly blown a fuse trying to decide whether to be furious or to fall over laughing.

Sideswipe had earned two days of double-shifts and an hour-long version of the Speech from Optimus for that stunt, and Ratchet still regretted he'd had to delete the code. It had been a refreshing change.

Exhausted or not, and rest reminders aside, he still had work to do tonight before he could listen to his own system complaints. A stack of finished fuel capacitors was in a neat pile at the corner of his work bench, only waiting for him to have the time to begin installing them, but right now he was abandoning his never-ending work on them to contemplate the visor that he was constructing for Sam, or sunglasses as Bee called them. Semantics, he supposed, but the human had been very firm in his desire to _remain_ human and Ratchet couldn't fault him for that at all. It was one thing to play at being a different species, but actually being modified into one? Just the thought made Ratchet shudder.

He'd modeled them after a fashionable, and expensive, pair he'd discovered on the internet. Despite what his brethren might think, Ratchet did understand the concept of style and while he'd chosen his alternate form with efficiency in mind, he understood perfectly that others preferred something a little….prettier. There was a reason that stepping into Autobot City was like venturing into one of the finest car shows in the world and that perception was something that 'bots and humans had very much in common. Medical necessity or not, Sam was also more likely to wear them if he looked good.

Aside from being aesthetically pleasing, this pair also had enough mass for Ratchet to attach the necessary circuitry to it that would, he hoped, allow Sam to communicate with his receptors. It was incredibly delicate, painstaking work done with his tiniest tools and Ratchet took a moment to steady the faint tremor in his hands before he began to very carefully attach the nearly microscopic optic sensors that would send a visual display over the lenses. A few more adjustment, a few diagnostic tests and they would be ready. Ratchet refused to even contemplate that this might not work. It had to work, had to, because this was literally his last option for assisting the boy.

He'd never liked admitting when he was out of his depth but frankly, he'd been attempting to swim in an ocean of the unknown since Sam had collapsed in his infirmary. And Ratchet would be happy to point out to anyone that his alternate form was an ambulance, not a boat. A reputation for performing medical miracles was one thing, but Ratchet wasn't Primus and there was only so much he could do with ingenuity.

His chronometer was in perfect working condition, of course, but Ratchet had long since defaulted it into the background of his visual display. He had quite enough to do without a constant reminder of his lack of time to do it in. It was only when he heard the soft swish of the infirmary door swinging open, felt the chillier nighttime air that he realized just how late was and he knew without looking just who had come to see him.

Ratchet didn't look up from his work, although he did slow, his focus entirely shattered by the presence behind him, the mech he had resolutely decided not to think about and the one he hasn't been able to get off his processors.

Optimus was standing behind him, utterly silent, and for once in his long life, Ratchet had no idea what to say. His default state when he was uncomfortable…or honestly, his default state, period…was to fall back on sarcasm and snark but in this case, his problems were twofold. One, this was his Prime and while he certainly spoke to Optimus with more freedom than anyone aside from Ironhide, he was still their leader.

The other problem was more personal. Ratchet might agree that he was often blunt but he rarely ever believed he was wrong. He said what he meant and what he believed, damn the consequences.

I'm not wrong, he told himself, firmly. He wasn't. He was insensitive, perhaps, too blunt and bordering on cruel this time, but he had made the right choice. He had. Ending their relationship was the best thing for them both. But even if he was right, he had _made_ a choice and he had no right to complain when the consequences of it stood behind him, haunting him with possibilities that he refused to contemplate. He'd been asking for this since the beginning, when he'd first allowed himself to be tempted into interfacing with Optimus in the first place.

The soft sound of depressurizing hydraulics from behind him, Optimus shifting his weight, and Ratchet closed his optics. He didn't need to see it, had enough memory files to picture how Optimus looked just at this moment. Arms crossed over his chest, deep blue optics half-shuttered in suppressed emotion. Likely, he was masked, Optimus was one of the few 'bots who preferred to keep his face covered even outside of combat.

It was Optimus who finally spoke, breaking the silence just as Ratchet had expected him to, "We need to talk."

Protesting that no, they really did not would have been a waste of time and energy and instead, Ratchet set aside his tools, focusing his optics on the wall behind his work bench. "If you're here to try to convince me to change my mind, I'd rather you didn't." Point of fact, Ratchet wasn't sure if he could stand to hear it.

"Ratchet." Nothing more than his name, nothing accusatory or pained in it, no chiding but Ratchet closed his optics anyway and fell silent. He could feel the vibration as Optimus stepped closer, felt him in his periphery sensors but Optimus didn't touch. "You know me better than that."

Again, no chiding, only a simple statement of fact. "Yes, I do." Quietly. Suddenly, it was easier to pick up his tools again, magnifying his vision so he could see the exquisitely tiny details of the visor in front of him. Sunglasses, Ratchet mentally corrected. They were sunglasses and he had _work_ to do. There was no time for this emotional nonsense, none at all.

"You can tell Ironhide that I have another stack of fuel capacitors ready to install in the solar towers." Ratchet knew Optimus entirely too well, he decided, to know exactly what expression would be on his face for that.

"You could tell him yourself," Optimus pointed out.

Well, yes. He could, if he felt like talking to Ironhide any time soon, but after that rather humiliating and semi-public dressing down, Ratchet wasn't inclined to go looking for Ironhide for anything other than a beating, preferable with a blunt weapon.

The silence that fell over them again was stifling and that faint tremor that had been plaguing Ratchet was worse, far too much for him to attempt to continue such delicate work. He slapped his tools down and vented a deep gust of air, let it out. Optimus was one of his closest and oldest friends, and Ratchet would be damned before he'd let that be ruined. He wanted his friend, he wanted…no. They just needed to clear the air. It would be fine. It had to be.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, finally, wincing at the grating note to his voice modulator. "That was exceptionally cruel of me, to tell you like that."

Optimus let out a sharp breath of his own. "Ratchet, I offered and you refused. I can accept that."

That…was not exactly what Ratchet had expected to hear. Oh, he hadn't thought Optimus would approach him on bended knee, but a protest or two would have been to be expected, a little reasonable discord. Optimus would offer his rational as to why they should partner, Ratchet would refute them and they could get past this. Perhaps they would even be better friends, with a little time.

Time. Yes. Ratchet finally turned to look at Optimus and couldn't stop his blink of surprise to see that his posture was nothing like Ratchet had imagined. He was leaning casually against one of the exam tables and his mask was withdrawn, his expression relaxed.

Ah, he was hiding his emotions, of course. Perhaps hoping to make Ratchet feel less guilty. That would be just like Optimus, to hide his own pain and accept any of the hurt that was sent his way as if it was his due. "I could have chosen a better time."

Optimus shrugged…_shrugged!_ "Perhaps, but the end result was the same."

A strange, stinging pain settled into Ratchet's chest, near his spark chamber and automatically he logged it, ran a quick diagnostic that spat a clean bill of health back at him. Tired, yes, exhausted, but other than that he was in optimal condition. Perhaps he was just feeling his age, pestered by phantom pains and palsies.

Optimus was still meeting his gaze steadily and there was none of the devastation Ratchet had seen that night. He _had_ seen it…hadn't he? Prime had wanted to partner with him and Ratchet had coldly turned him down, it was to be expected that Optimus would be hurt. Yet there was only calm confidence in his clear, blue optics and…and Ratchet should have felt relieved. Everything was going to be all right between them and he could let it go, get back to work.

That was what he should have done. Instead, Ratchet found himself saying, "You seemed very upset. That night." Certainly it was unnecessary to clarify which night.

The sound Optimus made was very close to laughter. "If you were expecting my reaction to be pleased, then I will firmly accept your frequent reminders that you are not a counselor," Optimus said, dryly.

"Of course," Ratchet murmured, turned back to his work bench. He stared at the sunglasses, at the neat pile of fuel capacitors and had to fight the urge to sweep all of them to the floor to let them shatter and explode in a satisfying cacophony. Even more inexplicable was the rising anger in him and with the last of his calm, Ratchet pushed his work aside, not past the realization that if he did give into the urge to destroy them, he'd certainly regret it later.

Ratchet had never felt the urge to rein in his temper before, hardly ever bothered. He was who he was and if anyone didn't like it, Ratchet was perfectly capable of telling them exactly which port they could stuff it up. It had never bothered Wheeljack, or Optimus, come to think of it, beyond the occasional scolding and—

It was hard to stifle that train of thought, harder still to force back the anger that he didn't have a right to, he had made the choice, _he_ had, and-and-and-

And Optimus had asked him to partner with him and barely seemed upset at his refusal. Was that what this had meant to him? This lukewarm, indifferent proposal was supposed to replace what he had with Wheeljack?

He didn't hear Optimus move, couldn't feel anything past the trembling rage that was filling his processors and he barely kept himself from lashing out at the soft touch on his shoulder, jerked himself away from Optimus's fingers so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Don't _touch_ me!" Ratchet snarled, pushing Optimus away with one hand as the anger in him heated, boiled to the breaking point as Optimus stepped back at his shove because the only way he could outright push Optimus was if Optimus let him.

The warnings scrolling across his vision, cool calculations and percentages were like gibberish, tinting his vision in crimson. Nothing caught except pure, clean rage and Ratchet was on his feet, shoving Optimus against the wall before he could stop himself, and Optimus let him, let him, and the growl that escaped him barely counted as language.

Damn him, _damn_ him for all of this, all of it, for bringing up partnering when it was suddenly so very clear that Optimus honestly didn't care what Ratchet chose.

Later, when time and distance had cooled him enough to allow for logical processing, Ratchet would go over his data logs and find nothing amiss, would only be able to conclude he'd been suffering from some temporary glitch. Nothing else could explain how his anger so easily overwrote his common sense. Common sense would have demanded that he sit back down and go back to work instead of attacking a superior officer for the second time that week. At the very least common sense would certainly have stopped him from violence against a mech who might match him in mass but was considerably larger and stronger than him. Probability stated that the chances of Optimus hurting him were miniscule but if he did, Ratchet could very quickly be dead.

But his common sense seemed to be buried somewhere in the back of his processors, along with his sense of self-preservation and the sharp sarcasm that he usually kept layered over his deeper emotions. Right now, all his feelings were boiling to the surface and every one of them felt like anger…and betrayal.

It wasn't a surprise to have his arm caught, his directional gyroscope reeling as he was suddenly whirled around and pressed hard against the wall, his arm pulled up hard behind his back. It was the second time he'd been manhandled today and this time Ratchet fought it, gears and struts squalling protests as he tried to free himself from an unyielding grip.

It was only after Ratchet subsided, venting hard as he sagged against the wall, that Optimus finally spoke again and there was no casualness in his voice now, only a heat that matched Ratchet's own. "I know what you want," Optimus whispered harshly into his auditory receptor. "You want me to make this decision for you. It would be so easy, wouldn't it? No guilt, no responsibility, all the blame could be laid at my feet."

"Stop it," Ratchet snarled, hating the way his voice broke, hating all of this; Optimus, himself, his weakness in wanting this. Desire was a dark curl of want, threading through the cleanness of his anger like an infection. He didn't_ like_ touching, he didn't, but Optimus was pressed hard against him and he was running hot, steamy vents of air pouring over Ratchet's equally overheated frame. Memory flared, of a human frame pressed against his own, blue eyes only slightly less brilliant than optics.

"I could do that." The pressure against him changed, gentled, and Ratchet keened softly, pressing back unthinkingly into the hard line of Optimus's much-larger body. "But you would never forgive me."

"I can't do this!"

"I know," And there was the pain Ratchet had expected to hear, all of it poured, overflowing, into two soft words. "But I can't do it for you."

Suddenly, Ratchet couldn't stand another moment of this. Optimus's touch had gentled but his grip was still firm and there would be no way to break free.

But Ratchet wasn't anything as simple as just a medic. He was their CMO and by very definition he had to be able to access their processors in case of damage or corruption, and he could hack his way in, if the need were pressing enough, even into Sunstreaker. Even Optimus. Any medic had to be at least a decent hacker and Ratchet would never call himself anything as feeble as 'decent' in anything.

It was easy, too easy, to use his medical overrides to slam through Optimus's firewalls, heard his shocked gasp and Ratchet only had seconds before Optimus forced him back out, it was a hasty, shallow hack at best, but it was enough to take over his motor functions and make him to let Ratchet go. Enough time for Ratchet to push him to the floor, straddle his prone form before giving Optimus back control of his own body.

He couldn't have held down Optimus if he wanted to and didn't try. Optimus met his fierce glare warily, hands lifting to rest lightly on Ratchet's hips. Ratchet didn't protest, not even when he stroked, large fingers tracing the gaps in his armor, sliding against the delicate wires beneath.

"Form a holo," Ratchet demanded, watched as Optimus's optics flickered in something like surprise. He didn't care. He wanted this; that he could admit, had wanted it again since that night when everything had fallen apart.

At the very least, he could want this.

A flicker of light on the floor next to him and Optimus's holo form stood there, looking up at the impassively. His calm wavered when Ratchet reached down and scooped him up, a nearly-living doll cradled in his palm. He held the small figure close to his chest, locked his joints before forming his own holo, shifting his perceptions into a smaller form.

It was disconcerting to see himself from another set of eyes. Enormous, like looking at Primus himself, but Ratchet shook aside that little mental blasphemy and took in Optimus instead, sprawled at his feet.

Before, that one other time, he'd let Optimus take the lead. Now, with his receptors burning like fire and his human form already aroused, he grabbed the front of Optimus's shirt and yanked him forward, only just saw blue eyes widening in surprise before Ratchet kissed him.

The lips against his own were gentle, tentative, but Ratchet didn't want his tenderness. Kiss him back, hard, felt Optimus's muffled sound of surprise but he didn't resist when Ratchet shoved him down on his back, devouring him as much as he could with an unfamiliar mouth. Teeth pressed hard against his tender lips and Ratchet had no doubt that if they were truly human they would be sharing the taste of blood. As it was, he could taste sweetness, heat, _arousal_ even as the concept of taste was foreign to him.

He bit at the soft lips beneath his own, felt Optimus wince and draw in a sharp breath, but there was no protest, only a punishing bite in return. Ratchet moaned, fingers digging hard into Optimus's shoulders. He wanted roughness now, wanted almost to hurt Optimus for letting Ratchet do this to him. Only the fact that he knew Optimus had suffered worse at his brother's own hands tempered him, that and he suspected Optimus would allow it, would take whatever Ratchet gave, in some misbegotten, misguided nobleness . Optimus would let him because he'd given more for less reason to his own twin and if Sideswipe thought he had a raw deal in the brother area, he should try sharing his spark with a psychotic tyrant for a change.

"Take these off," Ratchet pulled away long enough to demand, jerking hard on the soft, false clothing covering the body that he wanted to touch. Instantly, they vanished, left him with nothing but a wealth hot, silky skin begging for his touch, and Primus, but he wanted to touch. Hated himself for it, hated his need but all his disdain didn't lesson the desire and Ratchet slid down to mouth the hard line of Optimus's collarbone, slithering lower and leaving behind a path of bites and licks.

Human genitalia was a contrast of simplicities and complexities, their sexual needs equal parts easy to understand and confusing to implement. A human would be fumbling their way through this, Ratchet suspected, but a human didn't have instant access to gigabytes of information, had no way to precisely gauge pressure and temperature.

Even without that, though, some things could be intuited. Ratchet wrapped one unsteady hand around the hard erection in front of his face, pressed a soft kiss against the tip. The way Optimus's thighs trembled beneath his hands, his sharply indrawn breath; both excellent indicators that Ratchet had done something right. Large hands clenched beside him and Ratchet took one in his free hand, twined their fingers together as Ratchet took Optimus's cock deeply into his mouth.

Loud, choked sounds that might have been Cybertronian made Ratchet cast a wary glance upward and the sight made him pause, noticing wide blue optics focused on them. Optimus was _watching_him, them, and Ratchet deliberately pulled back, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against the hard eagerness of Optimus' erection.

Another moan, from beneath and above him and Ratchet slitted his eyes open in time to see Optimus's optics spiral wide, taking in everything. Beneath him, the holo form arched, whimpering, begging silently. Beautiful, Ratchet sighed to himself, even like this.

Lowering his head, Ratchet took him in his mouth again, the thick weight on his unfamiliar tongue as Optimus arched up again, pressing between his parted lips. He liked this, Ratchet could admit. Liked the control of it, liked the pressure against his tongue, the silky slide bumping against the back of his throat as he sucked. He supposed, in some distant, sane, part of his processors, that he should someday thank Bumblebee for having the foresight to not include a gag reflex in the parameters.

Certainly Optimus should thank him, considering the sounds he was making, his larger human frame writhing against the cup of Ratchet's palm and for just a second, Ratchet split his own perceptions, looked at them through his real eyes.

Oh, that was a sight to be saved, and he did automatically, taking in every miniscule detail, the shine of sweat on Optimus's throat as he tipped his head back, lips parted as he cried out. Dark hair pooled out around his head, a corona of blackness against pale skin, most of his lower body hidden by Ratchet's holo kneeling over him, and all of it stood out brilliantly against the mossy green of his own paint. His chosen form was as beautiful as his real one, Ratchet couldn't help but think, even as he shifted his perceptions back to his holo before his divided attention could make him falter.

Optimus's hands stroked helplessly over Ratchet's head and shoulders, threading through his hair and something about his tentativeness was obscene, made Ratchet grab his hand and force him to tighten his grip. Do it, he demanded silently, make me do _something_.

Some of his unspoken demand must have registered, Optimus's hand tightened in his hair, holding him still for the first uncertain upward thrust. Yes, oh, yes, Ratchet relaxed his throat, slid his hands beneath Optimus to cup his hips in encouragement. _Yes, fuck my mouth, force me, please, just a little. Please, please…_

_Yes_, came back to him and Ratchet startled to realize he'd actually sent that communication, more startled when Optimus complied, pushing hard into his mouth, large hands holding his head still for each forceful thrust. A sound burst into the air above them, a loud moan that Ratchet dimly recognized as his own.

His secondary processors recognized the offered mental link, accepted it before Ratchet could even properly consider it and the electric flood of pleasure that poured through it made him shriek aloud, even as Optimus did the same, the grating sound of metal barely registered as they writhed against each other, Optimus forcing his own very human-feeling ecstasy through the link. Doubled, trebled, as the feedback writhed between them, the dual sensation of his true body overloading mingling with Optimus's holo jerking beneath his own, loud cries echoing around them and there were too many voices involved for Ratchet to sort them out, even if he had wanted to.

His perceptions jarred when human hands caught him and Ratchet blinked to find he was still inside the holo, being dragged up into Optimus's arms. For a moment, Ratchet allowed the embrace, clung to the shaking, sweating body beneath him and he pressed into the sudden kiss that Optimus took with the same fevered eagerness it was given. For a moment.

Then he pulled away, met blue eyes with his own, and didn't offer a word or touch before he withdrew his perceptions back into his true form. Optimus did the same without comment.

It felt…good, to be himself. Less vulnerable and comfortingly familiar as the faint aftershocks of overload still sparked through his systems. Until reality chose to reassert itself with a vengeance, and Ratchet could only look down at Optimus in dismay, still straddling the other's lap. Dear, sweet Primus, had he really just attacked his Prime and…er…ravaged him, _after_ he'd told him that he wanted to break things off between them?

Distance seemed to be called for, immediately, but for some reason, Ratchet found himself reluctant. Optimus hands were still on him, but not holding, only resting lightly on his hips and his optics were open, regarding Ratchet with calm.

"This doesn't change anything," Ratchet said instantly, words tumbling free in that wretched way they had been lately. It couldn't change anything and for the first time in his recollection, Ratchet forcefully suppressed it when the ache of Wheeljack's loss seeped into his current emotions. He couldn't deal with that right this second, not with overload caused by someone else still throbbing through him.

If he was hoping for a repeat of the last time, of the sharp pain Optimus had shown him, he would have been sorely disappointed. Optimus only nodded, murmuring, "I don't expect it to."

Ratchet vented a harsh sigh, his own fingers curling against Optimus chest, briefly shrill against the glass. "You're not even going to try to change my mind."

He couldn't even understand why he was asking; this was what he wanted, why in blazes was he questioning Optimus's acceptance?

"I told you that it was your decision," Optimus reminded him, softly. His own fingers moved softly, stroking lightly, a very human gesture in a form that very much wasn't. "That does not mean I don't hope…" Optimus trailed off with an almost amused sound. "This is not, actually, what I came to talk to you about."

"We didn't do much talking," Ratchet grumbled, finally pulling away. "Even I know that humans don't usually chat with their pelvic regions."

Every part of him seemed to ache, from his optics down to the most delicate gears in his feet. With a barely concealed stagger, Ratchet settled himself back down at his work bench and once again picked up his tools. Hmm, at least his automatic calibration function seemed to have finally repaired the faint tremor that had been plaguing him.

There was a soft sigh from behind him, the quick whirr of gears as Optimus pushed himself to his feet. "You do realize that I'm your friend," Optimus said, faintly chiding. "You don't have to interface with me for that. You don't have to do anything for that."

"I know that," Ratchet said, a trifle impatiently.

"Do you?" Optimus countered. "Then listen to me for once. Get some rest."

"I don't have time," Ratchet said brusquely, already focusing on his work. Something had to be done about Sam's receptors and Ratchet would rather it was sooner than later, before the boy found himself in a situation that ended far worse than his little excursion the week before. But Optimus's next words froze him, the tiny sunglasses on the table in front of him untouched.

"Bumblebee has discovered a thermic trace nearby."

"Decepticons?" Ratchet said softly, over his shoulder.

"We think so. We do know that Barricade, at least, is in the area." Unspoken was that Ratchet needed to be there and he needed to be in top form, not ragged and exhausted.

"I don't have time," he repeated but it was a feeble protest. They both knew he'd have to make time.

"Then rest here." A light touch on the back of his hand, Optimus carefully drawing away his tools and laying them aside and mutely, Ratchet allowed Optimus to pull him away, towards the gleaming exam table on the opposite side of the room.

Optimus lifted him up easily and settled him on the steel table. Nothing in his touch implied any more intimacy than friendship and if he were any less exhausted, Ratchet might have protested sharply being treated like an overtired sparkling. Not today, not when he was equal parts emotionally and physically weary. He was already cycling into recharge when he heard Optimus settle on the floor, and it was less concern and more curiosity that had Ratchet withdraw his recharge commands and open his optics.

Optimus met his curious look with one of firm command, "I'm staying," he said unnecessarily.

"You don't need-"

"You do need. I'm staying."

Of course he would. Without another word, Ratchet sat up and hopped back to his feet, Optimus's rising protest fading as Ratchet settled on the floor next to him, curling so that he could rest his head in Optimus's lap. It would hardly be the first time he'd slept in a less than ideal location and with a last bit of belated wariness, Ratchet finally remembered to code the doors locked. If Ironhide caught him like this, he'd be hearing about it for the next millennia.

A hesitant touch against his shoulder, one large hand stroking tentatively and Ratchet murmured a wordless sigh of contentment, as he cycled into recharge. He needed this, he hated himself for it, but he did, and if his processors chose to torment him with mingling his memories of Optimus and Wheeljack together in an approximation of a dream, there was little Ratchet could do to stop it.

tbc


	40. Oh, My Little Soldier Boy

Note: I'd like to thank everyone for their comments and for continuing to read! I never anticipated this story going on for as long as it had but hey, I'm having too much fun to quit now! ;)

Oh, My Little Soldier Boy

by Keelywolfe

Ironhide/Lennox

* * *

Ironhide would never have admitted, to anyone, but when they had first encountered organic species, it had taken him some time to understand the concept of gender. Oh, on first impressions, it had seemed simple enough; the first organics that Ironhide had met had been similar to humans in that they had possessed two genders for the purposes of procreation. After you got past that little distasteful way of reproducing, the necessity of two contrasting sexes was easy enough. Hell, most mechs had notable differences in their protoforms based on their function, location of creation, even preference. Made sense that other species would have their differences.

It wasn't until he'd looked closer that he'd realized it was nothing so simple as 'innie' and 'outie' parts. There were certain sociological functions that were associated with gender and a certain expectation inherent in their personality as well as cultural conditioning. It had been true of every gendered organic species that he'd ever met.

In a word, organics were weird.

Most Autobots took to the concept with little difficulty, playing at whatever gender they decided matched with the organic's perceptions. Amongst the humans, most had chosen to identify as male, to match their comrades-in-arms. Worked out fine and the soldiers seemed comfortable with their assumptions. Wasn't much need to point out that Autobots didn't have a sex and didn't much want one, thanks, but Ironhide would leave those sort of technicalities to the science-types. He was happier helping teach the human soldiers new ways to blow things up.

Out of all the 'bots on Earth, only Arcee had chosen to lean towards the female side. Her reasoning had been well-considered and pointed, or at least Ironhide figured it was, knowing her. He hadn't paid a damned bit of attention to her chatter on the subject, just grunted at the appropriate pauses. Since when did he care what holoform anyone used, so long as they weren't letting any dangling bits hang out in public? Didn't matter what gender they pretended at, it didn't make it true, so just pick one and to hell with the reasons.

It wasn't until Arcee had commented on his own difficulties in choosing a form that he'd actually started listening.

They'd been on the training grounds, both flopped in the dirt after a very vigorous session; Arcee had more than proving that at least _she_ had kept up with her battle routines during their long travels. Ironhide had grudgingly approved her for combat even as he silently grumbled that if Ratchet hadn't tried to tear his struts out earlier in the day, she wouldn't have stood a chance.

She'd been chattering on about human gender stereotypes, some kinda bullshit, and Ironhide had just been grunting at a likely-seeming pause when his audios caught. "…in fact, maybe you'd have better luck with your holoform if you expanded your test parameters a little. No rule says that you have to stick with the first gender you tried out."

"Think so?" Ironhide had asked, a little curious despite himself. If he was going to work around the humans, he needed a holoform and really, he couldn't keep thumbing his way through forms, trying to find a snug fit. Humans liked things to be stable and didn't quite know what to make of the 'bots changing appearances all the damned time. He was in a command position and soldiers needed to know who to listen to; not like the humans could send a quick identity request. Far as he knew, he was the only one left who hadn't picked one and he'd been here for longer than most of 'em.

Arcee had shrugged, a very human gesture that made Ironhide smirk. Quick adapter, that one. "Can't hurt to try. Make up a female form and give it a shot." She gave him a smirk of her own, flicking him on a sensitive sensor array that made him hiss in startled pain. "At the very least, it'll shake up the humans a little."

He hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but Ironhide hadn't gotten that little joke. But he just hated to let anyone get one up over him, so he'd grunted in agreement and then taken her advice.

It was only now, walking around the troops and shouting orders to help with mission prep, that Ironhide got it. The soldiers were professionals, no doubt of that, and they did their jobs with startling efficiency for organics. Snapped straight to following orders, these ones, and Ironhide had a fine appreciation for that kind of obedience. But obedient or not, there was no way their human comrades could hope to hide their reactions.

Might think they were, would've if he'd actually been human. A human female might not notice gazes that lingered just a little too long, the faint hoarseness in a voice that declared, "Yes, sir!" to an order. They sure as hell wouldn't notice the abrupt surge of pheromones that had washed over him from all the males present the time he'd stooped to pick up a crate of munitions, hefting a load that no human, male or female, could've hoped to carry.

Ironhide didn't bother to wonder why him lugging around crates was so appealing. It was sure as hell a lot more fun to add a little more sway to his hips when he did it, to make sure he twisted just so when he set it down. Every eye in the hanger had been on him for a brief second and it'd been difficult not to preen under the heat of that attention. Sunstreaker liked to think of himself as the resident expert in organic seduction but he should've done a little more research on humans before settling on his form because _Ironhide_ was obviously in the premium configuration here.

Oh, hell, yeah, Ironhide decided. This form he was keeping.

It wasn't until he was half-sprawled over his own hood, studying the blueprints of the industrial area where Bumblebee had discovered the thermic trace, that he'd noticed something…off. Lennox was with him, as he had been most of the day and he'd just started pointing out an area of concern when another soldier had walked past them.

To Ironhide's bemusement, Lennox bit off whatever he had been about to say, pausing to glare at the other solder. The young man, a low-ranking officer and no fool, had scurried off quickly before his commander could add a few barking commands to his glower.

Huh.

Organics were weird was a philosophy that Ironhide had long subscribed to but this was weirder than most.

For his part, once they were alone again Lennox only focused back on the blueprints, "Like I was saying, this spot right here could be a concern if—"

"Is something wrong?" Ironhide interrupted bluntly. If Lennox was in a twist over something it would be better to get it out into the open now, before they were in the field and it could distract them. Bee had only found one thermic trace but that meant fuck all as far as Ironhide was concerned. Decepticons could pull better ambushes than that while they were in recharge.

Lennox blinked, startled, his attention flicking between Ironhide had the blueprints, "It's not wrong, just a concern if anyone gets cornered in this area, there's no clear escape route."

Oh, bullshit. Ironhide was torn between amusement and annoyance. "Is something wrong with_you_?" he clarified, propping his chin on one hand as he stared at the human, directly challenging. His interest in playing to the polite rules of human society was exactly zero, not when they were fast approaching mission time.

To his confusion, Lennox went very still, the hand that had been pointing at the vulnerable area tightened slowly into a fist. His concern increased significantly as Lennox remained silent, his eyes on the blueprint.

Ah, shit.

This was entirely his fault. He'd known they'd be up for a mission soon, he'd damn well known it, and still last night he'd…well…they had…Well, Ironhide was no longer the only mech on base who had to resort to self-service or at least not last night. Should have fucking known better, two leaders should _not_ end up as bedfellows, Ironhide _knew_ that, and now things were going to be awkward between them.

Instead, he'd been thinking with overheated circuits instead of actual logic and now Lennox seemed to be regretting their impulsiveness at a moment when they needed all their focus on the mission.

It was with no small amount of his own faint hurt that Ironhide drew back, giving Lennox a little distance. Humans considered proximity to be intimate and while Ironhide had never much worried about it before, now might be time to consider it.

If Lennox were a fellow mech, he might have a chance at repairing this damage but with a human? He had no clue what the proper response should be. It wasn't like they'd even done much, Ironhide couldn't help but think irritably. Hell, if he'd known he was going to lose a friend and comrade to the awkward discomfort of a bad aftermath, he'd sure as fuck done more than a little groping.

Ah, but that had been nice enough. They hadn't even managed to remove any clothing, real or holographic, but even the friction of the fabric between them had been exciting, unfamiliar as Ironhide was with touching to overload. The television had been flickering staticky light over them, the movie they'd been pretending to watch long since over and Lennox had been moaning beneath him, Ironhide happily sprawled between the human's spread legs as he rubbed against the hard pressure of Lennox's erection…

With a disturbed jolt, Ironhide realized he was getting aroused just remembering it. Seducing organics wasn't exactly his forte, perhaps he shouldn't have stayed the night? It'd taken conscious effort to keep channeling power to his receptors and Lennox hadn't _seemed_ disturbed to see him when he'd awoken, both of them cramped from the small sofa, but perhaps he'd been concealing his reactions and—

A hand caught his own, stopping Ironhide from withdrawing further. He hesitated, watching with growing confusion and worry as a muscle worked in Lennox's jaw, a tic tic tic of visible frustration before the human finally muttered, "They're all staring at you."

Staring? Ironhide blinked and looked down at his form. It seemed to be in order. The all-important clothing was covering his form properly,-and that was a mistake he never wanted to make again—nothing was exposed that shouldn't be.

Perhaps it was the weapons? All the soldiers on base were armed and Ironhide had made sure his holoform always carried a weapon as well. He was currently carrying a modified Glock in a holster in the small of his back, as well as an M1911 strapped to his leg, along with various small explosives and incendiaries that the humans weren't cleared to carry yet. Well, and a few blade weapons that were part of his holographic form, including a spring-loaded one in the toe of each of his boots. No such thing as excessive when it came to weapons, as far as Ironhide was concerned.

"All right, they're staring. Is that a problem, Lennox?" Ironhide asked, gruffly, when it became clear that the human wasn't going to add to his statement. Patience was also not going to be a quality that was listed at the top of his strengths but today Ironhide struggled to maintain just a little. He forced himself to soften his tone, asking quietly, "Will?"

Lennox sighed, rubbing awkwardly between his eyes. "'Hide, you look like a very attractive woman."

Hell, yeah, he did. "Of course I do, I created this."

"Yeah, but—"

"You'd prefer I was unattractive?" That didn't mesh with all the data he'd accumulated about humans but if that was what Lennox wanted…

"No, I wouldn't!" Lennox said in a furious whisper. "I just…don't like them staring at you."

Ironhide considered that for a long moment, turning that statement over in his head along with what he knew about humans. He tapped a finger on his hood, twisting around this little puzzle to be solved until…"You're jealous!" he said triumphantly.

Lennox groaned aloud. "Would you keep it down?" he hissed.

"No, don't even try to deny it," Ironhide gloated, more relieved that it was something so simple than he cared to admit. "You don't want them to stare because of your possessive feelings towards me!"

"No. I don't."

Something of Lennox's quiet admission caught him and Ironhide deflated. Here he was with a human who had emotions towards him, felt possessive of him, and he was reveling in it as though he'd won the energon sweepstakes.

Ironhide let out a harsh breath, dragging his fingers through his long, and attractive, human hair.

"I'm…not sure how I can make them not stare at me," Ironhide admitted softly. "It's not intentional." Well, not all of it. He sure as hell wasn't going to offer to be _unattractive_ again. One time deal, that one.

"Of course it's not," Lennox sighed, "And look, I know this is stupid. You and me, we…we're not…" And of course Lennox would be just as bad at this as Ironhide. They were soldiers, not poets, and Ironhide wasn't interested in pretty words, thanks. He preferred the physical to the verbal.

"If it soothes you to know it, I promise this form is completely yours." He drew one hand slowly down his hip, cupping the curve of his backside in a way that he hoped was suggestive. All those videos on youtube had to be useful for something.

Lennox's reaction was gratifying. "Okay," he said, somewhat inanely, bright heat shining in his eyes and the flush of arousal heating through him.

Oh, he was so getting laid again tonight. Maybe even the next night and after the battle? It would be his turn to assault his fellow Autobots with pheromones and shouts of pleasure, hell, yes, the very stars were going to hear Will screaming his name—

Ironhide winced hard, dropping to one knee in an automatic defensive crouch at the sudden scream of static broadcasting through his communication links. It hurt like a motherfucker and he desperately tried to shut it down even as it forced open every communications circuit he had, assaulting him with someone else's _agony/fear/pain/helpme/agony_

He dimly heard Lennox shout, heard his own high whine of Cybertronian pain mingle with the cries of every other Autobot on base before it cut off sharply and he could only collapse in relief. Consciousness returned slowly until Ironhide found himself still in a holoform, blinking up at Lennox as the human held him off the concrete floor.

"Something is very wrong," Ironhide whispered hoarsely, echoing silence in his head. Quickly, he jerked himself from Lennox, merging into his real form and he was already tearing away, wheels screaming, before the human could even voice his concern. Slowly, his com links were coming back online, every circuit filled with the voices of his comrades, demanding, fearful voices that all wanted to know what the hell had just happened.

Not one voice seemed to know but whatever the hell it was, Ironhide was boosting their defense grid _now_.

He'd worry about the details later.

-finis-


	41. Moving Day

**Title:** Moving Day

**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** Transformers**  
****Pairing(s):** Sam/Bumblebee, Prowl/Mikaela

Note: Sorry about the wait, everyone, work has been crazy lately. The next part will be out a lot faster, promise!

* * *

_This wasn't right, Sam knew. Muffled voices all around him, riding just on the edge of being able to understand but even as he strained for it, the words skittered away and left him with nothing but bleary confusion._

_Voices, he knew those voices. Bumblebee and Optimus, the low rumble of words that he couldn't place and Ratchet. He heard Ratchet's voice, rough and demanding, but that wasn't right, Ratchet wasn't there, hadn't been there, Ratchet was a voice in the infirmary, and they had been in his quarters._

_Hadn't they?_

_Yes, his new quarters, they had been moving him into his new quarters and someone had been screaming, someone had been been—_

_They had been moving his stuff and someone had been screaming. _

* * *

The only time Sam had moved in his life, not counting his abrupt transplant to Autobot city, he'd been too young to remember. Whether his parents had hired a moving company or just begged help from friends, he wasn't sure, but he'd seen enough buddy movies to figure out that if a person was roping friends into the task, he was required to offer them pizza and beer as compensation.

Thing was, he and Mikaela were underage, so beer was out, he doubted that pizza was anywhere on the menu in the Canteen, and two of the 'people' who were helping him move didn't need food, or at least not pizza. As for the ones who would eat pizza, well...

"I am not moving your junk for you while you stress test the furniture," Mikaela yelled up the stairs, startling Sam enough that he fumbled the box he was carrying and sent a shower of its contents down onto his feet.

Behind him, still loaded down with his own box, Bumblebee snickered. Sam glared at him. "You aren't helping."

Geez, one time they'd kissed, _once_, and Mikaela was convinced that anytime they were out of eyesight, they were trying to start some kind of sex world record in their first day here. Not that it wasn't tempting...

The voice that floated up to them next made Sam want to climb right into the closet and shut the door. "Now, dear, Sam might need a recharge." Louder, his mom called up to him. "Sam? Do you and Bumblebee need us to leave for a few minutes?"

Okay, not _that_ tempting and now Bee was leaning against the wall, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Sam just rolled his eyes and shouted back, "No, Mom, I'm fine."

"Are you sure, sweetie? We could go back and get a few boxes—"

"Judy, I'm sure he'll tell us if he needs some private time," his Dad interrupted. Because this was exactly the time he wanted his father to stand up for him, Jesus, please us.

"I don't want him waiting too long because he thinks he'll embarrass us!"

"He's a grown man and Bumblebee is with him, if he needs..."

Sam finally gave in and covered his ears with his hands. Yes, because that was just what he wanted, his parents squabbling about his sex life. If only there was a way he could communicate telepathically with his mom, just to drop a little mental note that no, it wasn't _their_ embarrassment that he was worried about. Not so much.

Warm, slim fingers covered his hands, gently prying them away from his ears and Sam opened his eyes to see Bee grinning at him. "They're done," he whispered, teasingly. "If you want, I can go assure them that your receptors are currently well charged."

"Watch it, or you'll be done," Sam muttered. Bumblebee only gave him a sweet smile and a pat on the ass, kissing the tip of his nose before ducking away, carrying his box over to the closet.

Somehow, threatening not to put out was a lot less effective when it was currently a nutritional requirement, and Ratchet had made it pretty clear, with loud, horrifyingly descriptive words that it was. Ratchet was measuring his daily sex intake with the same precise scrutiny as his calorie intake and Sam was only glad that all he had to pass over the information was lie there and get scanned. Having to fill out that chart every day would probably tip him over the edge of running off screaming into the night. The one time Ratchet had showed him the different calculations he did every day to measure the status of his receptors, Sam had pleaded human brain weakness and had gone back to organizing the infirmary supplies before he had a stroke.

Something he was currently regretting because now he was freaking exhausted from his work detail and he still had to move all of his junk. It was amazing how much crap he actually had or at least it looked like a lot more when it was put in boxes and piled into his new living room. Clothes, books, video games, Cd's. A veritable collection of Typical American Teenager with the added bonus of him not knowing where anything actually was because he hadn't packed it, plus a bunch of junk his mom had brought.

Not that he was going to bitch about that, not when his first shower in his new place had ended with him discovering that no one had provided towels.

Sam left the box he had brought up with Bumblebee, a weirdly organizing collection of toiletries and shower gear, and tromped down the stairs again, deliberately. See, not having sex here, just carrying boxes. Working hard, like everyone else.

Mikaela only rolled her eyes, and maybe he couldn't communicate telepathically with his mom but he got a distinct sense of, _oh, please_, from Mikaela. She was sorting through a box of books, taking the time to exam each title critically before setting it on the shelf and Sam could only give her a shrug when she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, son, I can certainly tell which boxes the army boys packed for you." His dad was poking through a box that looked like clothes. "I think they sorted your underwear by color."

"They did," Prowl said in his calm way, another box opened in front of him. "As well as his shirts, his pants and...I'm not certain what this is."

"Let me just take that upstairs," Sam said hurriedly, before Prowl could hold up whatever mystery object he'd discovered. Sam couldn't be certain, but he had a feeling that if an Autobot couldn't identify without an internet search, he probably didn't want his mom to see it.

"Of course," Prowl said and the brief look he gave Sam over the top of his sunglasses was like an eyeball smirk, all-too knowing. He didn't say a word, his lips didn't even twitch but Sam still blushed like an idiot and scowled, clumsily grabbing up the box.

Sam gave a mental sigh, lugging the box upstairs. He'd been a little worried...okay, a little hurt that Mikaela had jumped right in with this virtual stranger but the more he got to know Prowl, the more he couldn't blame her for hitting that and not just because he was all kinds of hot in both his modes.

Bumblebee was awesome, no questioning that, but Prowl was just _cool_.

* * *

_Another voice, barbed with viciousness and Sam recognized that voice too, cringed from the sharp anger in that cool, indigo tone. Sunstreaker, that brittle temper of his blade-sharp and close to him but Ratchet's voice was closer, closer, familiar hands on him, helping him...helping him?_

_Ratchet was linked in his thoughts as a helper, a healer, but the pain that lanced through Sam was a brilliant supernova of agony and someone was still screaming, someone was screaming and Sam thought it might be him. _

* * *

Big as his new place was, it wasn't quite large enough for a group of humans and a couple of 'bots to hang out in the living room, not without the imminent threat of accidental squishing. Over in the garage area, Prowl and Bumblebee were in their mech form, sitting side by side and occasionally lending a hand with the heaver stuff. Why strain yourself rearranging the furniture when an Autobot could do it with one hand?

Still, it was...weird. The two of them were obviously chatting with each other over their communication links, gesturing silently but for the quiet hum of their systems, the bright blue of their optics watching the humans with interest. Not that that was the weird part, not when Sam was watching them just as much. It was Prowl that was weirding him out a little, something in the way he moved. It tickled at Sam thoughts and he absently considered it while he unpacked, trying to figure out why he seemed, well, weird, in comparison to Bumblebee.

When it finally clicked, Sam actually slapped himself in the forehead, earning him a stare from everyone but his mom, who looked at him with real concern but it was just so obvious! When Prowl flickered from his holo to his mechform, whatever form he'd previously been focused in went statue-still, like some kind of bizarre alien version of 'red light, green light'. Super weird, that. He'd seen Bee use both forms easily enough plenty of times, including today.

His mom was still eyeing him worriedly and Sam figured he had about ten seconds before she asked him if he need some sex again. So he went for the distraction.

"Prowl," Sam asked, a little hesitantly, "Why is it that you can't use both your forms at the same time? I know Bee can."

That seemed to have earned him a reprieve as all the humans present blinked a little and turned their focus to Prowl, who gave Sam another Look over his sunglasses. Whatever Prowl was going to say was cut off as Bee flopped down next to Sam and slung an arm over his shoulder. "I'm much cooler than Prowl," he answered promptly.

"Yes, I believe that is the scientific description," Prowl said, dryly. "Your 'coolness' far surpasses my own." Sam could practically hear the quotes.

Bee grinned. "We have different jobs so our systems have different requirements. It's a handy modification but not many 'bots actually _need_ to be in two places at once. I have the proper mods to allow for dual perceptions. So does Ratchet. Prowl's focus is..." Bee hesitated. "...different."

"You mean classified," Mikaela put in, frowning a little as she added another book to the stack she was reorganizing. However the soldier boys had done it had met with her disapproval and she was busy doing up the bookshelf her own way.

"It's not classified, but I doubt it would be as 'cool' as Bumblebee's. I'm a tactician." Prowl answered calmly. "I assist in battle planning."

"Not bad as a moving truck, either," Mikaela teased him and Prowl gave her a faint smirk.

"I'm sure. And I do have the ability to engage in minor dual perception but as it isn't strictly necessary for my duties, there was no need to waste expenses to add it to my programming."

"I guess not," Sam said, considering. "When would you ever need to use dual perception as a tactician?"

"I engage in it on rare occasions," Prowl said blandly. "I wouldn't mind a visual demonstration but I don't believe either of our humans would like to volunteer."

Mountain Dew was remarkably uncomfortable when it simultaneously went up the nose and into the lungs, Sam learned, having just taken a sip when Prowl threw that tidbit out for them. Sam fumbled with the napkins as he coughed, tears of pain and laughter running down his face.

With Ratchet, it was hard to tell when he was joking but with Prowl, Sam couldn't quite figure out when he was serious. Oh, he seemed serious enough, but his eyes literally sparkled with amusement whenever Sam glimpsed them from behind the sunglasses he was still wearing. Inside.

It was like living through the movie Airplane. Sam kept expecting Prowl to tell him not to call him Shirley.

"Oh, I'd volunteer for you, dear," his mom called out brightly from the kitchen, and suddenly drowning in Mountain Dew didn't seem quite so bad. "What would you need me to do?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Witwicky, but I am currently only engaging in visual demonstrations with Mikaela," Prowl told her in a deeply apologetic voice, but the wink he sent in Sam's direction nearly set him off choking again.

"Oh, that's a shame," Judy said, obviously disappointed, "Maybe some other time?"

His dad, who was almost to Sam's shade of red without the benefit of a coughing fit, finally burst out, "He's talking about sex, for God's sake, Judy, let it go before your son chokes to death!"

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Judy said, indignantly. Really, she had adapted to the whole holographic alien sex stuff entirely too well for Sam's comfort. "I was just—" she trailed off as his dad heaved himself to his feet and stormed into the kitchen and, Oh, god, gross, kissed her hard. So much for no visual demonstrations.

"Dad, dad, dad, we can see you. Seriously, I have to eat in that kitchen...maybe we've done enough for today," Sam strangled out desperately, his parents summarily ignoring him. "We should get something to eat, food, food is good, we should have pizza except I doubt they have pizza at the canteen and Mikaela and I can't have beer but food—"

"Breathe, child. I'm sure we can persuade someone to go into town and provide pizza." Prowl said, very dryly. Gee, wouldn't it be nice to be a giant robot with no progenitors, as Bee put it. "Jolt is quite interested in the surrounding area, I'm sure he'd leap at a chance to explore a bit."

"You could go yourself," Mikaela pointed out, stepping away from the bookshelf to admire her work, and Sam had to admit, sorting them by color and size was at least more visually interesting that plain old alphabetizing. Good thing Bee would be able to find anything for him if he actually wanted to read any of them.

"I will not leave you alone and you can't leave base," Prowl said and that tone made Sam raise a set of mental eyebrows. There were worlds of meaning to the edge in his voice and something about it made Mikaela's cheeks go pink, temper flaring in her dark eyes but before she could snap out a reply, Bee pulled something out of the box he was digging through.

"You still have this?" he asked, amused, and Sam saw he was holding up his old jacket. The jacket. The one he'd been wearing that day, had it only been a year ago?

It seemed like much longer, the memory of it hazier than it had any right to be. Parts of it stood out in sharp relief, though, despite his wish that they would fade. Bumblebee's agonized screams, his silent plea for Sam to take the Allspark. His own desperate run through the city with Ironhide and Ratchet at his heels, the booming retort of their weapons as they tried to protect him. He hadn't known them then and but his fear and his belief in Bumblebee had made for an odd sort of trust.

It hadn't been enough and in the end there had only been him, the Allspark, and Optimus. And Megatron. That was a memory that had never faded, the screams of a dying tyrant surrounding him as he thrust the Allspark into his chest and saved them all and he didn't care what Optimus said, desperate action didn't equal hero.

The memory was a bloody, smoke-encrusted nightmare but still, he'd kept the jacket. For reasons he couldn't quite express, he'd had to.

Everyone was looking at him again, Sam realized, and he wondered what expression was on his face now. He took a deep breath and smiled, reaching for his old jacket. Or, well, what was left of it. "Of course I have it, Sam said, loftily, "It's my lucky jacket."

"Sam, you do realize that this jacket is being held together only by the zipper and your resolve," Bee said, amusement sparkling in his green eyes, even as his mech half coughed out a rasping laugh. Damn, but he was good at that double perception stuff. Probably showing off in front of Prowl. "I think you've manage to squeeze all of the luck out of it."

"Not quite," Sam said, giving his parents a nervous glance. They were still in the kitchen, putting away the miniscule amount of groceries that the supply sergeant had given him. Bee's eyes widened as Sam leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as Sam whispered, "I was wearing it the first time we met. Really met."

"Sentimental," Bumblebee replied, almost a moan and he caught Sam by the shoulders and held him there, their cheeks pressed together.

"Human," Sam corrected, pulling back to look at Bee. His eyes were just starting to darken, his lips parting as he leaned in, when Sam snatched the jacket away from him and stepped back, laughing gleefully.

"I see that being a tease is also a human trait," Prowl said, and this time his amusement was a lot clearer. Sam glanced at him to see that Mikaela was leaning against the arm of the chair he was in, one hand on the back of Prowl's neck. Something about her grin, just this shy of wicked, made Sam wish that his parents hadn't offered to help him move and really, visual demonstrations weren't _that_bad a thing.

A quick look at Bee only confirmed that he was amused too...and aroused. No missing that and it made Sam a little daring, giving his own smirk back to Prowl. "I don't tease. I make promises that I always keep...hey, that's weird," Sam broke off, looking down at the jacket in his hands. It felt...warm.

Squeezing at the pockets revealed something hard and without thinking, Sam slipped his fingers inside and felt smooth, warm metal fall easily into his hand. He pulled it free, held it up so he could look at it and his breath caught as he recognized it, alien glyphs carved into living metal, or not so alien, not to him, not anymore.

"Bee, I think this is a piece of the All—"

_Someone was screaming, in his head there were voices, so many voices and someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and Sam knew, he knew._

_Someone was screaming and it wasn't him. _

tbc


	42. Interlude 7, Jolt: Age Discrepancy

**Title:** Interlude #7: Jolt; Age Discrepancy  
**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** Transformers  
**Rating:** R  
**Pairing(s):** Jolt/Arcee

Notes: Um, yeah. This. I have no excuses. The next chapter is being stubbornly coaxed along and I got tired of fighting with it, and this was just clamoring to be written. It's all secondary characters and resolves nothing, but Jolt was demanding a slice of time, and Arcee got dragged along for the ride, so to speak.

* * *

It wasn't that he hadn't been to other planets before. Not before leaving Cybertron, of course, fresh from combat training and unceremoniously assigned to Ark-14. But Jolt had seen plenty of the galaxy during that search for the Allspark, thank you very much. During a few thousands of human years of travel, they'd stopped around for supplies and intel; he wasn't naive or anything. He wasn't a kid.

Yeah, yeah, he'd been in stasis for much of that time but that did not negate the fact that he'd seen those planets. On the ship's view screen. Whatever. He'd still seen them. Dustball planets that were close enough to a primary star that they could harvest solar energy to continue the journey. Ice planets and the occasional comet, even, for water supplies. Necessary minerals. Not that he had been allowed to harvest any himself...okay, just because he was excited to venture into the human city didn't mean that he hadn't been around. Because he had. He'd been in battle, he'd earned his rank. Jolt was a warrior and he could handle any assignment necessary.

Besides, how hard could it be to get this 'pizza'? It was a human food product, not like he was transporting live explosives.

But that didn't mean he shouldn't be thorough. A mission was a mission, no matter the details, and by Primus, he _knew_ the details. He'd searched on the internet for coordinates to the closest pizza-making facility, he had his human interaction lexicon and the small plastic card that contained human funds. And he had his objectives.

Primary Mission: Jolt would enter the facility in his chosen holoform; he would request two large pizzas, one with pepperoni and mushrooms, one with 'everything', and a two-liter of beverage. Coca-Cola, preferred, Pepsi as an acceptable substitute, nothing diet or caffeine-free. No breadsticks.

Secondary Mission: Return to base with provisions. Condition of pizza should be 'hot' and the imprecision in that term was bothersome, particularly from Prowl, but sometimes a 'bot had to work with what he had.

He was ready, he was so ready, to hit the road by himself. Prowl himself had ordered him on this mission and Jolt would not fail him. He would complete his objective and return with the item in optimal condition.

...maybe he should double check his interaction lexicon one last time. The pizza with 'everything' was concerning him, his holoform could only carry 450 kilograms at a time, though surely Prowl was aware of that-

"Ready to travel, baby bot?"

The sudden voice startled Jolt so much that he jerked on his shocks, his struts giving a high groan of protest. At his left Arcee's main unit rolled up, the brilliant blue of her armor, a deeper shade than his own, gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

"Don't call me that," Jolt scowled after the microsecond it took to translate her English to Cybertronian. He was slowly incorporating the language module on his off-duty hours, but he didn't much like it. The planet seemed interesting enough but that languages were so devoid of logic that they made his processors crawl. Still, he did have to talk to the humans and it made the movies a lot more entertaining. Besides, Prime had ordered everyone to stick with their language as much as possible. It was good practice, or so he said.

Arcee didn't transform but it was amazing how a motorcycle could radiate smug humor, like she'd just spent the past cycle invented the idea of joking about his age. Hil-arious. About as funny as Sunstreaker was right off a battlefield when he was still in his 'murder the hell out of all the crap that moves' mode. Jolt couldn't glare at her from his vehicle form so he settled for sending a blat of static at her. It was about as mature as a human sticking out his tongue but whatever. She'd started it.

Arcee didn't lower herself to sending the static back but her not-well-hidden smirk was evident in her vocal transmission. "Just asking a question. One that you didn't answer."

"I was just leaving," Jolt informed her loftily, even as he ran one last quick check over the mission specs. Pizza, payment, back to the city. Easy.

"Good. Let's hurry up and get this done, I don't have all day to play delivery 'bot for the humans."

It was probably telling at how wound up Jolt actually was that it took a second for her meaning to filter through. "What do you mean, delivery bot? Prowl asked me to go!"

"Yeah, and he asked me to go along with you, so let's _go_," she said impatiently, already rolling forward and Jolt stared at the cloud of dust she'd kicked up for too long before speeding after her in a squeal of tires. He caught up with her at the security checkpoint, fuming silently as the guard checked them both over before waving them through the gate. Arcee didn't wait for him and Jolt had to put on an extra burst of speed to tailgate her back wheel. Yeah, there was an alt-mode, nothing said tough like a little two-wheeled mini-bike with a human holoform clinging to her handlebars like a bad afterthought.

It was too loud for a vocal transmission but that didn't mean Jolt had to be silent. He sent a quick wireless transmission, let his irritation seep into it. _I can handle this, I don't need a babysitter just to pick up supplies!_

_Talk to Prowl, not me,_ she sent back with laconic amusement._ He seemed to think you needed a little backup for your supply run. Baby bot._

That time her little insult stung and Jolt swerved to the left, trying to speed around her. Arcee only veered with him, as neatly as if they'd planned it, and it quickly turned into a race, Jolt darting from side to side, trying to get past her and Arcee weaving along the empty road with the same easy skill as she went into battle. Frustration was burning through him like fire in his energon lines and finally, he surged forward, clipping her back wheel with his bumper.

He regretted it the instant she skittered out, sparks screaming out of her armor as it scraped along the pavement but before he could do anything, she'd transformed, using the inertia to launch herself briefly airborne before she transformed back, both wheels firmly on the asphalt and very much still in front of him.

Jolt didn't much care for English but profanity was satisfying in any language and he sent a voice file of every profane word he could conceive of at Arcee. She only laughed back at him, her amusement a brilliant wash over his sensors.

_You didn't think I was a baby last night,_ he sent, sullenly.

_Oh, no?_ She was still amused, and it was as bright as sunshine over the com line. _That's what you think. When you're a little older, I'll show you how the big 'bots do it, baby._

Unaccountably hurt, Jolt fell silent, drawing back a little to follow her from a proper distance. It wasn't that he didn't know she was interfacing with him out of a lack of options; the only other 'bot without any attachments was Ironhide and…ew, no. He was old and grumpy, and he'd played mentor to almost all of them. Jolt would resort to a microwave oven before he opened his circuits to Ironhide. A 700-watt microwave. Primus, he'd use a hand crank. Arcee, on the other hand, was three different kinds of sexy-pretty, to 'bots and humans alike, and if there'd been another tasty Autobot on base, Jolt doubted she'd notice him more than she would an old oil spot. But the humans had a saying for that, any port in a storm, not that they seemed to have any ports to plug in to...

Arcee didn't seem to notice his unhappy silence. Or she didn't care. Either option was highly plausible. _I heard that you met Bumblebee's human._

_Sam? Yeah. He seems okay._ Nice enough that Jolt didn't mind doing a supply run for him. Not exactly _his_ flavor of poison; Jolt was a little dismayed to see that his own tastes seemed to run in the direction of a little evil and a lot bitchy, but at least a human was a decent step up from a hand crank.

_Okay for a human? Guess so, if Bumblebee likes him. Never took him for one of _those,_ though. How anyone can want to touch an organic creature like that... _Arcee gave a visible shudder, even in her motorcycle form.

That was a side of Arcee he hadn't expected. _You don't like humans? _he asked, neutrally, even as an uncomfortable wariness settled in his processors. _He_ thought the humans were cool enough, he liked their movies, anyway.

Apparently not neutral enough because she sent him an emotional parcel of mingled amusement and soothing. _Relax, kid. I like them as allies, not as lovers. _Then, unexpectedly,_ I like _you _as a lover and you're more than enough. Any more and I'd need to go on double energon rations_.

He barely had the time to bask in the rush of gloating delight that comment had given him when it hit him. An uncontrollable rush of pure emotion slammed through his communications firewalls, his sensors overloading with a gush of_ pain/pain/pain_ that wasn't his own. Braking was instinctive, his tires shrieking, and he felt it when Arcee banged into him, felt the superficial damage as they transformed before they'd even come to a stop, tangled together as they twitched helplessly.

Overwhelmed past any logic, Jolt only realized he was whimpering in pained fright when he felt Arcee's emotions slide gently over his own. They'd interfaced recently, he remembered dimly, and she still had his keycodes. Her emotional touch was gentle, soothing, mentally hushing his instinctive fear and he should have been angry, embarrassed that he was behaving just like the baby she'd teased him about being. Instead, he surged into her touch, his own larger hands scrabbling over her armor to cling, ashamed but still needing it. He'd never felt pain like that, never.

She gave him just long enough to gather his equilibrium before she pulled away and said with brisk command, "We need to get back to base, now."

Jolt only nodded, not trusting his vocalizer and reluctant to let down even the lightest of his firewalls to send a transmission. His sensors were still throbbing with remembered pain, right alongside his real pain from their crash. That something was wrong was obvious and if the base were under attack...Jolt shut down that thought ruthlessly, compressed any lingering fear into the back of his processors as he transformed again and turned back towards the base, tires smoking as they tore down the deserted road.

tbc


	43. To Live In Interesting Times

**Title:** To Live In Interesting Times  
**Author:** Keelywolfe**  
****Pairing(s):** Sam/Bumblebee, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Optimus

* * *

Sam's quarters weren't far from the infirmary. When Bumblebee stood upright, he could actually see the infirmary from the doorway, just one corner of the roof, but it counted as visible. The reasons for that were varied; it was practical, it put Sam and Bumblebee's sleeping quarters on the inner outskirts of the officer's district, Ratchet had demanded it. Logical reasons, all of them.

Bee knew it was close; he could have calculated the distance to the nearest tenth of a millimeter in seconds. If he hadn't been tearing through the streets, his tires squealing, if he hadn't been screaming over the communication links for Ratchet, if his own aching processors hadn't been an unneeded distraction. If, if, if.

His own sensors had still been shrieking into the red when Bee had blearily returned to consciousness, the babble of human voices surrounding him. He hadn't taken the time to analyze anything, only saw Sam collapsed on the floor, his eyes showing whites and a thin trickle of blood trailing from his nose as he convulsed.

It had been little more than reflex to snatch Sam up and transform, tires squealing as he sped out into the streets. Grimly, he navigated the short distance to the infirmary, his secondary sensors in his holo focused on cradling Sam in his arms, watching helplessly as the boy shook in seizure.

There was already crowd of mechs at the infirmary, a rainbow color of armor that Bee ignored, speeding up to the only one that matter, brilliant green and already reaching for him before Bumblebee had stopped. His door was painfully wrenched open, Sam snatched away from him, and Bumblebee could only transform and follow Ratchet into the infirmary, barely noticing the others trailing in behind him.

Bumblebee stood there and watched, his hands helplessly empty, as Ratchet labored over Sam, his large hands moving around his own holoforms as he worked, doing...whatever it was the medic could do to help a fragile human boy.

Dimly, his sensors informed him that Optimus was standing next to him and perhaps his presence was meant to comfort. Bumblebee didn't know. He was so helpless; Decepticons he knew how to handle, had centuries of battle experience to fall back on. There was nothing he could do here and now but watch and wait.

The sharp voice breaking the unbearable silence made every mech flinch, turning towards the brilliant yellow 'bot leaning heavily against the wall.

"Can't you teach the little bleeder to use the com lines like a normal mech?" Sunstreaker said viciously, still cradling his head in one hand. A low murmur went through the others, clicking disapproval and irritation.

"Please get him out of here before I make more work for myself," Ratchet snarled, his hands moving in a flurry around the small form laid out on the medical berth. Through them, Bee could see Sam was still shaking, his heels drumming hard against the metal of the table.

Sunstreaker resisted Sideswipe's efforts to pull him out the door, probably having a vicious conversation over a private line but finally, he let Sideswipe tug him back outside. A very good thing because Bumblebee was not at his most logical and breaking his fists on Sunstreaker's sneering face had seemed like a very good idea just then.

Watching Ratchet working frantically was painful, and Bee finally turned away, optics landing on Arcee who was nearest to the door. She had her arms wrapped around herself, "That wasn't the kid. I don't know who it was but they were Cybertronian." Her optics were wide with shock, they all were, Bee realized. Jolt slid one arm around Arcee and buried his face into her shoulder, offering comfort as much as he was taking it.

"Maybe the kid just picked up the signal like we did only he...he's human," Jolt whispered, his optics flicking to Bumblebee.

They knew about him and Sam, of course they did. Most of them had probably _heard_ them at one time or another. He couldn't look at them, couldn't see their various amounts of sympathy, perhaps even disgust. Hiding his relationship with Sam from his own kind had been unthinkable and most Autobots were accepting of simi relationships but not all.

"Perhaps a weapon of some sort," Prowl murmured and Optimus made a sharp gesture for silence. He didn't order them out, even rested a gentle hand on Jolt's shoulder, but all of them fell quiet to watch Ratchet work.

Ratchet had two holos working on Sam as it was and Bee watched as a third formed and darted over to a cabinet. He didn't bother with the lock, tore the door open hard enough that one of the hinges snapped and it hung open at a drunken angle. Snatched up a plastic-wrapped syringe and vial of something, and Bee googled the name. Diazepam, strong anti-seizure medication, Primus. He didn't need to search for the effects a long-term seizure had on a human, had no idea how it might affect Sam.

Bee watched through optics that burned as Ratchet's holo tore open the syringe, pulled the cap off with his teeth before plunging it into the vial, drawing the liquid up into it but before he could inject it, Sam took in one harsh, shuddering gasp of air, arching up so hard that Bee wince. With a last harsh convulsion, Sam collapsed and went very still.

"Ratchet," Bee managed to whisper, hoarsely, even though his sensors indicated that Sam's heartbeat was returning to normal. He knew it, but he could only watch helplessly as Ratchet ran scans over Sam's too-still form. He was pale, frighteningly so, and two thin trickles of blood were running from his nose, the scarlet obscene against his pallor.

They had done this to Sam, simply by existing, they had done this, Primus...

The flicker of scans running over him lit Sam's face garishly but whatever Ratchet was finding seemed to be better because he visibly relaxed, two of his holos flickering out while the last crouched next to Sam.

"Everyone out," Ratchet said abruptly, both of his forms speaking as one giving evidence to how closely focused he was on Sam. They all filed out, casting worried glances back and there was a low hum from the murmured conversations. Optimus was the only one aside from Bumblebee who didn't budge and Bee couldn't help a wavering little sound of amusement at the exasperated face Ratchet made at them. The medic didn't protest, though.

"His stats are dropping back down," Ratchet said brusquely. "And there's no indication of long-term damage. He's going to be fine, Bee."

With gentle hands, Ratchet's holo pushed up Sam's eyelid with one thumb, flicking a small light back and forth to watch the pupil dilate. Sam flinched, reaching up to bat Ratchet's hands away.

"Sam?" Ratchet asked softly. "Sam, can you hear me?"

"Ratch…?" Sam said groggily. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus. "You changed your holo."

He had, Bumblebee realized. He'd been too concerned for Sam to even notice. He'd switched from a distinguished older man to someone considerably younger and by human definition, cute. To Bumblebee's confusion, Ratchet's holo blushed abruptly, fair cheeks flushing to near crimson and when his logic processors offered a likely reason for that, he couldn't stifle a near hysterical giggle. The high color decorating Ratchet's cheeks vanished just as quickly as it had formed, obviously forcibly shut down but far too late to disguise it from the two mechs who were watching, one of whom was likely the cause of it.

His worry for Sam was still paramount but this was entirely too good to let go.

"If you can see that, I suppose your vision is all right," Ratchet grumbled, recovering quickly from his lapse. "How are you feeling, dizzy? Any nausea?"

"No, m'kay. Just tired," Sam bit off a yawn even as he said it and Bumblebee nearly inverted his air intakes trying not to laugh when the boy added, "How come you changed your holo?"

To his credit, Ratchet didn't blush again and his glare was practically a standard operating procedure during any repairs. "It's temporary. Stay with me, Sam, I need you to stay awake until I finish scanning."

"Temporary?" Primus, the boy was like a dog with a bone. Even Optimus made a strained little sound at that and now Ratchet's scorching glare was aimed in his direction. Bee suspected that it was only his leadership matrix keeping Optimus from keeling over from that sort of heated rage. Ratchet seemed to have perfected the art of trying to kill a mech with his optics.

Enough was enough, he couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. His reputation as a cheerful prankster was on the line, here. Gingerly, Bee leaned in close to Sam, ostensibly to offer comfort. Just close enough to whisper, knowing full well Ratchet could hear every word. "I bet he forgot to change his parameters back after he and Optimus were done playing." Sam's feeble snicker made him almost dizzy with relief, well worth having Ratchet's murder glare turned to his direction when he added, a little louder, "Just what were you and Optimus doing, Ratchet?"

"I'll send you a video of it if you don't shut it," Ratchet snapped and his holo winked out of existence. A faint wisp of steam curled up from his chassis, a very clear sign that he was _pissed_ but at Sam's weak laughter, he softened visibly. Well, that was worth a permanent note in his memory file; Ratchet was definitely getting a soft spot where Sam was concerned.

"Promises, promises," Bee sassed back and earned a cuff to the head, hard enough to make his auditory sensors ring.

"Bumblebee," Softly, chidingly, and Bee straightened quickly. Teasing Ratchet was one thing; Optimus was out of the question.

"Who's Lara Croft over there?" Sam asked blearily.

Belated, Bee noticed there was still a holoform in the room with them, a woman standing with military precision and showing no sign of amusement at their antics. He sent a quick identity ping and having it come back as _Ironhide_ cemented the unreality of the day. He'd chosen a female holoform? And one hot enough to blur the eyes of any human male on base, and a few of the female ones as well?

Clearly, Bumblebee was spending too much time in Main Ops to be missing out on gossip this tasty.

"I checked all our perimeter sensors, Prime," he…er…she…?... _Ironhide_ said. She tossed her head back and the long sweep of her brown hair fell over her shoulder. "Whatever it was, it's not local."

"No," Prime agreed softly, thoughtfully.

"Optimus," Ratchet said sharply. He stepped back and gestured at Sam's hand. The shard, Bee remembered, recalled the moment before Sam's collapse, the moment before the sudden surge of screaming pain had literally knocked him offline. A fragment of the Allspark, held in the hand of the one human who had a connection to it.

The shard was still in his hand, fingers clenched so tightly around it that Bumblebee could see a trickle of blood leaking from around it.

Optimus reached to take it and only to go still at the sound Sam made. Bumblebee flinched back in shock. It was almost a growl, something he'd expect from an animal…or a feral 'bot.

"Sam—" Bee said softly.

"No. Optimus doesn't need it." He hissed it and Bee took an involuntary step backwards.

"No, he doesn't need it," Ratchet soothed. Sam whipped his head around to glare at him but Ratchet was unfazed, only reached out to stroke his arm gently. "No one here needs it, do they?"

"No." Sharply.

"But he is the Prime, he can keep it safe. That's his duty, to protect it. No one _needs_ it, you don't need it."

Sam blinked, that blazing anger fading into bewilderment. "But I can hear him."

"Yes, yes, we know," Ratchet said, softly, still petting the boy lightly with one large finger. "We can hear him, too. We're working on the coordinates, Sam, you don't need to transmit anymore."

Hear who, Bee wondered, wildly. His own memory of the event, whatever it was, was blurred and corrupted, only pain and screaming had registered in his processors at all.

"I…I can hear…he's scared," Sam whispered, his own fear creeping into his expression.

"Shhh, of course he's scared," Ratchet said comfortingly and his tender care was almost as shocking as Sam's fierceness. The noises Ratchet was making were like the ones a mech would make to a sparkling, soft clicks of reassurance. That was disturbing enough but worse was that it was working, Sam slowly relaxing and Bee closed his optics, troubled. It was Sam's humanness that Bumblebee loved about him. He neither wanted nor needed Sam to have a Cybertronian nature.

He opened his optics again, watched Ratchet's touch deliberately shift with careful calculation, moving down until he was stroking Sam's closed fist, coaxing it to open. "We can help him. Just let me have it…that's it…"

Slowly, so slowly, Sam's clenched fingers relaxed. Ratchet didn't even look at the shard, only nipped it up with two fingers and passed it quickly to Optimus, who took it silently.

Sam blinked as though the light were too-bright. "That was…really weird."

"Mm, yes," Ratchet was scanning again. "I think I may know what occurred. Bumblebee, you say this happened after Sam found the Allspark shard?"

Bee nodded, a little fearfully. "Yes," he added, aloud, wincing at the rasp to his voice. Must've strained his vocalizer when he was screaming. Damn and blast but that had hurt, in more ways than one. He couldn't imagine what Sam had been feeling.

"I think…mind you, this isn't an official diagnosis by any means, but I think that finding the shard boosted Sam's abilities, enough that his own comlink picked up a distress signal."

"I have a comlink?" Sam asked, his voice cracking sharply.

"Yes, yes, of course you do," Ratchet waved that off impatiently. "You've been communicating with Bumblebee through it, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam mumbled.

"_Any_way, as I was saying, your normal range is very, very limited. I don't believe that you can communicate without actual physical contact?" he raised a questioning eye ridge at Bumblebee, who nodded silently. "When you touched the Allspark shard, your receptors drew power from it, just as they had for millennia before they were transferred to you and in doing so, they boosted your range far beyond what any of us can normally manage and you picked up a distress signal. Your lack of control sent it through the channels to the rest of us."

"Then why did it stop? And who was it?" Sam asked weakly.

Ratchet shrugged. "I'm still guessing, but I assume your receptors themselves cut off the signal because it was hurting you. Whoever it is, they don't have enough control to block out their emotions and you don't have the experience to separate their pain from their message. Not that I'm sure they had one, while I was receiving, all I heard was screaming."

"Yeah, screaming. They were hurting so much," Sam whispered. He was starting to tremble.

A sudden request from Ratchet for a private communication startled Bee and he opened it automatically. _Bee, he needs a charge, badly. His receptors were drawing off the Allspark shard and the loss of it has them distressed. _

_No problem_, he sent back, already forming a holo and eager to have Sam in his arms. He knelt next to the boy almost hesitantly, reaching out to rest one hand on Sam's chest, over his heart. The sight of Sam growling at Optimus was still replaying in his processors, a disturbing echo that he couldn't quite shuffle aside.

Having Sam moan, a sweetly _human_ sound, made Bee relax a little. A trembling hand covered his own, pushing it down without hesitation and Bee laughed, softly, tugging Sam's shirt out of the way and pressing a wet kiss against his belly. This was wonderfully familiar, the warmth of Sam's skin, his scent. So beautiful.

The sound of the infirmary door opening made him glance up and to his surprise, he realized Optimus and Ironhide had left but Ratchet was still standing over them, running scans and showing no intention of leaving.

_Ratchet, please._ Hadn't they done enough to Sam without inflicting this on him as well?

_Not this time, Bee,_ his tone was firm but gentle. _I need to monitor him and he might need more power than you can give him. I'm sorry._

Wild protest flared and Ratchet chuckled over the com link._ Don't worry, I'll keep my optics to myself. Do try to keep it simple, and preferably quick._

Bee kept his more creative swearing to himself, knowing that it wouldn't persuade Ratchet and might upset Sam. Instead, he focused on mouthing a damp path down Sam's belly, neatly unfastening his pants with one hand and sliding it inside, curled it around the hot firmness of Sam's cock.

Quick, he could manage and Bee didn't doubt that Sam wouldn't have a problem with quick either. He didn't seem to have even noticed Ratchet, exhausted past words and his receptors greedily drawing the charge they so desperately needed. Sam had tried to explain to him once how it felt when his power reserves got too low, the strange mingling of arousal and pain, and Bee had ached to hear what it was like. For his part, feeding the receptors energy was automatic. He did it for his own, after all, and Sam's had rarely pulled so hard on his energy reserves that it even registered. Bee sometimes felt it afterward, a lagging sensation from his system over an unexpected power draw but he felt the same after a long battle.

It was only Sam who suffered from this and knowing that it wasn't his fault didn't make it any better. Quick, Bee reminded himself, grimly, shoving aside his own arousal. He wasn't particularly happy about this kind of fast-food sex for Sam but it was better than the alternatives. His processors helpfully offered him a quick image of Sideswipe and a reminder of what Sam had had to do with him and Bee shut that down hard. Not the time for guilt or petty jealousy.

Sam was starting to arch up into Bee's stroking hand, tiny sounds of pleasure escaping him and a reluctant glance up confirmed that Ratchet was keeping his word. No doubt that he was scanning but his optics were shuttered and dark. Venting a little harder than normal, which was kind of creepy but with the kind of scans he was running and the pheromones that he and Sam were clouding the air with, it wasn't like Bee could blame him.

He still curled over Sam a little closer, wanting to protect him from yet another invasion of his self. I'm sorry, he mouthed it silently against the soft skin of Sam's neck, dragging his lips over faint stubble and up, until he could kiss him, feel the tremor of his moans. _I'm so sorry._

"Bee!" Sam gasped, dark eyes flaring open and heavy, wet warmth spilled over Bee's hand as Sam collapsed. He slipped into sleep almost immediately, splayed out on the table and stilled flushed from orgasm. Pretty enough that Bumblebee ached with want that he stifled.

As Sam would probably say, this whole situation sucked.

There was a last flare of a scan and then Ratchet's hydraulics hummed as he stepped away, reinitiating their communication link. _All right, he got a good charge out of that. Bumblebee, you can take him back to his quarters, if you like. Let him rest until he feels like getting up._

_Are you sure?_ Bumblebee gave him a narrow look, a little unnerved that Ratchet wasn't insisting on keeping Sam here.

_No, I'm not!_ Snarled back at him, making him flinch._ I'm not sure of anything! Every scan I've done indicates that his receptors aren't causing him any actual harm and yet, here he is in my infirmary again after nearly bringing the entire Autobot contingency on Earth to its knees and I have no idea how to help him!_

Ratchet sagged against one of the tables, resting his head in one hand. _We need to get him communicating with his receptors. I'm almost done with his visor and hopefully that will work._

_And if it doesn't?_ Bee dared, softly.

_Then I will think of something else_, Ratchet sent with a sharp glare, as if daring Bumblebee to argue. As if he would. Ratchet might be acerbic, irritable, and a downright a pain in the ass at times but there was no one that Bumblebee would trust Sam with more.

As gently as he could, Bee picked Sam up and cradled him in his large hands. As a mech, Bumblebee knew he wasn't particularly cuddly but Sam gave it his best try, curling up with a sleepy sigh. It occurred to him that he wasn't even sure if Sam's parents were aware of what had happened. Likely Prowl had spoken to them but he would check after he got Sam tucked into bed.

With a jolt, he realized that they had only been here approximately twenty minutes. Not an hour before they had been helping Sam move, talking about pizza; normal things. Human things.

Ratchet was already focusing back on the data from his scans, ignoring the two of them as Bee carried Sam away but the heavy sound of his air vents didn't escape Bumblebee's notice. Ratchet was running on the hot side and whether it was because he'd just gotten a free show from him and Sam or because he was frustrated with his lack of options to help Sam, Bee wasn't sure.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to see Optimus still lingering outside. He merely looked at Sam and gave Bee a questioning look.

The urge to hold Sam closer, to prevent even Optimus from seeing him was difficult to resist but Bee managed. Very softly, Bee said aloud. "Optimus, I think Ratchet might need your help?"

Bee certainly hoped so because if he didn't, the next time he needed a repair, Ratchet might weld his lips shut.

Optimus didn't even question him, only strode into the infirmary, the door swinging shut behind him. Bumblebee hadn't made it three steps when he heard a sound like a startled yelp and decided to walk faster.

"Don't want to know, don't want to know, don't want to know," he chanted almost silently, holding Sam's small, sleeping form close.

* * *

Sideswipe leaned casually against one of large storage buildings that circled the city, dispassionately watching his brother rant. Not that he didn't understand his frustrations; his own processors were aching like he'd just been on a three-day high grade binge _after_ a beating, but listening to Sunstreaker's increasingly shrill raving wasn't helping.

"Sunny, calm down," Sideswipe drawled, deliberately. If Sunstreaker needed someone to take out his temper on, then Sideswipe would give him one. Better that then let him start a fight in the infirmary with every Autobot stationed on Earth and if Sideswipe had to _feel_ like he'd gotten the energon beaten out of him, he might as well actually do it.

To his mild shock, Sunstreaker didn't even seem to notice the nickname, only spun back away from him, pacing as he seethed.

"Calm down?" he hissed. "Those idiots are so busy making sure that the little bleeder still feels_human_," Sunstreaker sneered the word, "That they aren't even training him properly in the very basics! When was the last time you met a mech who couldn't control his own com?"

The hot shine in his brother's optics was as telling as the surge through their shared spark, an anger that bordered the edge of sanity and this was getting dangerous, to both of them. Sunstreaker wouldn't hesitate to cause some very painful damage to his brother in his temper, Sideswipe knew from long experience. Time to change tactics.

"He's very young and this is very new," Sideswipe said, reaching out to run a warily soothing hand down his brother's arm. He was more than a little afraid that Sunstreaker would take his hand clean off and having him grab it instead, slamming Sideswipe hard enough against the building to fritz his optics was almost a relief.

"That's slag and you know it!" Sunstreaker so angry that he dropped English, hissing out in clipped Cybertronian, "They are treating him like he is still human and he is not! He needs trained or he's going to hurt someone, most likely himself, and next time it might not be so easy for Ratchet to fix him, he could end up with permanent damage and I-" he faltered, optics narrowing as he stopped to look at his brother. "What?"

Sideswipe was having a hard time not outright gaping at his brother. This was not the kind of temper tantrum he'd been expecting. "Nothing," he answered, finally.

"Not nothing. What was that look for?" Suspiciously and Sideswipe cringed internally. There was no way that Sunstreaker was going to let it go now.

The only other option was distraction. Sunstreaker was pressed chest to chest with him and it was easy enough to tip his head up and press their mouths together, tasting dark, slick lubricant as Sunstreaker jerked in surprise.

A hand closed over Sideswipe's throat, clenching hard enough to blur his vision as Sunstreaker leaned away, breaking the kiss to give Sideswipe a hard glare. "One of the humans will see."

Sideswipe only smirked, leaning into his brother's cruel grip until a sharp warning blared in his vision. "I fail to see why that should be a concern of mine." Not exactly true but still, better than Sunstreaker killing anyone in a fit of temper.

The grip on his throat loosened enough for Sideswipe concentrate on forming a holo, coaxing Sunstreaker to do the same and drawing him between two buildings while their true bodies blocked the entrance. The two of them were hidden in the shadows as Sunstreaker held him up against the cool brick, his legs caught in the crooks of his brother's arms as Sunstreaker fucked him.

"Ah," Sideswipe gasped out, flinching as Sunstreaker sank his teeth into the base of his throat, his receptors shrieking equal parts pain and pleasure as Sunstreaker thrust into him, brutally hard. Cold, greedy mouth against his own, their teeth clacking painfully and Primus, yes, he wanted this.

"Harder," he begged into his brother's mouth, his hands scrabbling over Sunstreaker hard enough to leave bruises had they actually been human and he nearly wailed as Sunstreaker hesitated, pulling back enough to look Sideswipe in the face. Dazed, he met Sunstreaker's dark gaze, blinking through the dimness of their shadowy little corner.

Sunstreaker's smile was coldly amused. "You would be enjoying this."

"Yes," Sideswipe agreed mindlessly, squirming desperately until Sunstreaker moved again, each too-hard, too-brutal thrust like perfection and their connection swelled, unblocked pleasure singing between them and even as it arced, blending into one moment of harmony, Sideswipe managed to hide his true emotion, his desperate, astonished gratefulness to the little human currently in the infirmary.

This was very first time he'd ever seen Sunstreaker show concern for anyone but himself or, rarely, his brother and if this was what kissing Sam did to Sunstreaker, then Sideswipe owed him so much more than a little petting and power sharing.

Sunstreaker's cry was muffled into Sideswipe's mouth, both of them sagging to the ground as Sunstreaker's strength failed. The ground was hard and rocky beneath Sideswipe, barely registered before he was abruptly flipped onto his belly and Sunstreaker was on him again, forcing his legs apart so he could kneel between them.

"Give it to me," Sunstreaker whispered darkly into his ear, already pushing inside him again, grinding their hips hard together. Sideswipe cried out, his brother heavy and cool over him, inside him, the unyielding pressure of his cock moving in him, taking every bare inch of him.

"Yes," Sideswipe sobbed out and gave in, arching up while Sunstreaker pounded into him. A strong arm looped under his hips, dragging him up and into each hard thrust, a brutal rhythm that only made Sideswipe beg louder, pleading for everything his brother had to give. He did want it, wanted everything his brother could pour into him, and if Sunstreaker was fractured then he was a vessel that could never be filled.

The noise that tore free from Sunstreaker was little more than a primal shriek, mingled with Sideswipe's identical one, the both of them caught and held as Sunstreaker pushed in as deeply as he could, lost in a sensation that their sensors couldn't decipher between pleasure and pain.

Sideswipe couldn't move, his brother sprawled heavily over him and aches were already starting to register, soreness between his legs, sharper pain of the rocks beneath them digging in. He only just felt the soft, tentative kiss at his shoulder, the gentle pressure of a hand stroking down his side. Sideswipe took a breath he didn't need and held it, let it out slowly, and let his brother's uncertain gentleness wash over him in a slow, cool touch.

-fin-**  
**


	44. T Minus

**Title:** T-Minus

**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** Transformers**  
****Pairing(s):** Sam/Bumblebee, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Optimus, Ironhide/Lennox, Mikaela/Prowl (Whew. I think that's everyone.)

* * *

_23 hours to mission time._

After a month that included an evil computer viral infection, the unexpected addition of Autobot receptors on his human body, and broken arm, it was something of a unique experience for Sam to wake up feeling...fine.

To be honest, he felt better than fine. Pretty good, even. Maybe a little hungry; in the human way, not the weird energy-vampire way. Come to think of it, they never had gotten that pizza.

Sam stretched lazily, noticing belatedly that the bed next to him was empty. They hadn't gotten around to unpacking his alarm clock so he had no idea what time it was but the light filtering into the skylights was non-existent so late was a pretty good guess. That meant he could have been out for an hour or six hours.

Back to sleep or food? Sam considered it sleepily, trying to remember what his mom had been putting in the fridge that afternoon. On one hand he was warm and comfortable, but on the other, he was pretty sure he had at least milk and cereal. Plus, he was alone. Bumblebee's on-duty schedule was decidedly not nine-to-five so the odds he'd be back anytime soon to play food-fetch weren't good.

Food, then. Sam slipped off the bed, hissing as his feet hit the icy floor. Air conditioning was awesome in the middle of the day when the desert outside was shimmering with heat. Not quite so much in the dark of the night.

To his surprise, he could hear a murmur of voice and Sam crouched below the low wall that made up the banister, peering downstairs a little warily. Not that he didn't trust the security measures in his new place but better to be cautious then dead.

From his angle, he could look down into the living area and he was a little surprise to see Bee's holoform sitting on the sofa, his parents on either side of him. Whatever they were talking about, Bee didn't seem particularly happy about it. As he watched silently, Bumblebee slumped down, resting his head in both his hands. An ache settled into Sam's belly that had nothing to do with his hunger, watching Bee's oh, so obvious despair. Even at his worst, Bee had always managed to make him smile, offering comfort and strength and seeing him like this...

He couldn't hear what his mother said then, but he recognized her tone, the soft comforting murmur that he had heard dozens of times as a kid when he'd been sick or hurt. She wrapped her arms around Bumblebee, hugging him close, and his dad clapping him on the shoulder, giving him a rough little shake. Encouraging him the very same way he'd always done to Sam.

Something that had been hot and tight in Sam's chest for so long that he had long since forgotten it was there eased and a hot prickle formed behind his eyes. For all that his parents had been incredibly accepting and encouraging of his relationship with Bee, Sam wasn't stupid enough to believe it had been easy for them. Aside from getting dragged out of their home and suddenly finding out about alien cars on the planet, their own son had taken off with the aliens and gotten infected with weirdest venereal disease in the history of the world.

In comparison, his dad would have probably thrown a party to find out his son was just gay. Possibly a parade.

As he watched, Bumblebee leaned into his mother's embrace, visibly hesitant and then, when she pressed her cheek against the top of his head, crooning gently, he abruptly clutched at her, keening softly.

Bumblebee was his age, Sam remembered abruptly. He was thousands of years old and had been a soldier for most of them, but he was still a teenager in his own way and maybe he didn't have a 'progenitor', but he sure seemed to get what they were for. His mom held him, rocking him while Bumblebee clung to her and his dad patted his back.

Even knowing that he was probably the topic of discussion couldn't dim the warmth he felt at watching his parents comforting Bee. No matter what they had to deal with, at least this was all right.

He knew the second Bee noticed he was watching, saw as Bee stiffened a little and pulled away from his mom, looking up at the top of the stairs.

Busted. No point in pretending otherwise. Sam stood up and gave them an awkward little wave, "Hey, guys."

His parents were on their feet in an instant, followed quickly by Bee. He met his mom halfway down the stairs and suffered through her parental inspection without comment, even as he mentally rolled his eyes when she pressed a cool hand to his forehead. Like Ratchet would have let him out of scanner reach if he wasn't all right? Whatever had happened, it seemed like was over now. Chalk up another spot on the weird alien receptors board and moving on. "Oh, sweetie, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Sam answered honestly. "Hungry."

And promptly regretted that as his mom exclaimed, "Oh, do you need a charge? Bee, here, Ron and I can get out of your way—"

"No, no, no," Sam shook his head, raising his hands to keep all of them back. His mother's concern with his sex life was starting to get disturbing, medically necessary or not. "I'm hungry, you know, for food? Chew it up, swallow it down, carbs and glucose and all that good stuff?"

To his bemusement, his mother brightened visibly and why not? Here was something she could actually help with. Resigned to his fate, Sam followed her down to the kitchen and let her take over, watching as she cooked enough food for a party of ten. Hell, he hadn't thought he had that much food in his kitchen; his mom's super powers were a lot more awesome than his sex battery ones.

Bumblebee hadn't said a word yet, only sat next to Sam at the table, concern visible in his green eyes. His camaro form was parked in the garage area and Sam didn't doubt Bee was running half a dozen scans on him at any given time. Caring for him, watching out for him the way Bee always did and beneath the edge of the table, Sam took Bee's hand, twining their fingers together even as he ate everything his mom put on his plate with enthusiasm.

It was only later, when his mom had shooed both of them off to bed and the two of them were curled together beneath the blankets, that Sam asked, softly, "What were you guys talking about?"

Sam had his head resting on Bee's chest, listening to the false beat of his holographic heart, the only sound he could hear because Bee wasn't answering him. For a minute, Sam didn't think he would then he felt Bumblebee sigh, his chin digging lightly into the top of Sam's head as he spoke, "I was apologizing to them."

That made Sam frown and he sat up, looking at Bee through the darkness. Bumblebee's eyes glowed very faintly; probably he was cheating a little on his parameters to be able to see in the dark. "Apologizing for what?"

"For everything," Bumblebee said quietly. He reached up and trailed a single finger down Sam's face. "For everything that has happened to you, and them, for taking your life away from you—"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Sam said fiercely, grabbing Bee's hand in both his own, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the knuckles roughly.

"No?" Bee turned his hand in Sam's grip, the tips of his fingers brushing Sam's mouth.

A sudden chill went through Sam and he swallowed dryly, "I guess...I guess you could have told me no that night."

Chuffing laughter greeted that. "No, I honestly doubt that I could have," Bee said dryly but his eyes were amused. "And no, I did not apologize for this. I find that I am incapable of regretting loving you."

Sam laughed a little, his fear easing. Damn, they were both a couple of saps, weren't they. "What did my parents say?"

Bee's mouth quirked up in a smile, "They said that I didn't do anything wrong and that it wasn't my fault. I find the similarities between you and your parents fascinating."

Considered that they were lying together naked, Sam wasn't much interested in finding any other similarities. Instead, he leaned in and shut Bee up the best way he knew how, with his mouth and generous applications of tongue.

Bumblebee let him, parting his own lips and the soft sound of pleasure that escaped him made Sam shiver and kiss a little harder. But after a second, Bee pulled back and gave him a searching look.

"You don't need a charge," Bee said, softly, concerned.

"No, I need you," Sam countered.

Bee's grin was inspiring.

* * *

_Sixteen Hours to Mission Time_

In a rare moment of lucidity this night, Optimus was sincerely regretting he hadn't insisted on soundproofing for his quarters. At the time they'd built them, he'd assumed raising a simple privacy barrier would be sufficient. In the more delicate planning stages of any battle, a seamless shield was a necessity, both sides having long since perfected them as a means to keep away all but the most diligent of spies.

He hadn't counted on not being able to maintain one and he knew without asking that his partner was not about to spare his dignity by doing it for him.

The sound that escaped his vocalizer would have been humiliating if he'd had the processing power to allow for the emotion. Ratchet's dark chuckle indicated clearly that he knew it as well, and the slippery tingle of pleasure that ached over his sensors made him repeat it, louder.

_::Do you want me to stop?::_ Ratchet sent, his tone solicitous, his expression anything but, and another vicious surge of pleasure slithered through their link, scraping over sensors already raw with it.

_::No, no, nonono::_ Optimus wasn't even certain the words made it through but certainly his panicked reaction did as Ratchet chuckled again.

_::Do remember that I offered...::_ It was the last words that made it to his processors and Optimus distantly hoped that anyone investigating the screams would at least think to knock.

Or at the very least, he hoped they wouldn't stay around and listen to his garbled pleading for more.

* * *

_Twelve Hours to Mission Time_

It wasn't the right time for this.

Will Lennox had been in the military for a long time. Long enough to lose men, long enough to get a divorce, to sink himself back into the job, the duty, that had caused it. Too fucking long, maybe. The upcoming mission was already in the countdown window and he knew, without a doubt, that the worst time to deal with outside issues was just before a mission.

But he also knew that it was better to deal with it than dwell on it.

Fucking time frame was the problem. Prep was winding down into the tiny details, everything was organized and the mission was still twelve hours out. Nothing to do now but wait, and the longer the wait, the worse it was. Now was when soldiers started fights, petty issues turning into explosions at the turn of a hair as the tension settled on a knife-edge. There was no chance of sleeping, no serious exercises since you couldn't risk exhausting yourself. Nothing to do but wait.

Lennox knew it, but still found himself walking up the long, dirt path that led to their haphazard shooting range. The booming echo of a rifle report guided him as much as the large shadowed figure he could see leaning against one of the rocky outcroppings. It wasn't moving which meant if Ironhide was practicing on the range he was doing it with human weapons and in a human form.

Just thinking about it made a frisson of heat stir in him that had nothing to do with the rising temp of the morning. Will shook it away and concentrated on climbing the rocky path. That was a whole different situation and probably not one that it was a good idea to think about right now.

Not that he seemed to be able to fucking stop.

He wasn't trying to hide his approach, probably wouldn't have been able to from a being who could hear his footsteps at twenty meters even over the rifle blasts. Could probably hear his heartbeat by now and from the shadows where the large mech form of Ironhide was sitting, Will could see the blue gleam of optics tracking his movements.

He had to get a lot closer to see the female form sprawled over a large rock, slim hands holding the rifle with casual ease as she took another shot.

She...he...his brain was a little confused on that issue. Not that pronouns mattered much to a visual approximation of an unisexual being but as pretty as the form was, there was no denying it was Ironhide wrapped in that package. Perhaps that should have been disturbing to him but Will Lennox had seen plenty of disturbing things in the past year and this one rated low on the rungs.

Will kept back and watched as Ironhide took another shot. The target was way too far out for him to see precisely where it hit but Will had no illusions about the deadly accuracy as it disappeared a spray of shrapnel. Ironhide had told him once, casually, that as far as sniper shooting went he barely ranked in the top ten of the Autobot army. The weapons he used were meant for a closer range and those weapons included his fists. Watching him...her... watching the targets disintegrating under each shot, Will had to admit to a tingle of mixed excitement and fear at the thought of meeting a better shot than Ironhide.

As he watched, Ironhide finished the clip, pushing up on her knees before she turned to look at Will.

"Need something, Lennox?" Ironhide asked, slamming another clip home. The voice that went with the body was on the deeper end of the female range, with husky, smoky warmth. He wondered if Ironhide had any idea what just that voice did to him, hearing it caress the syllables of his name. She didn't turn back to the range, only looked up at Will expectantly, a faint smirk curving one corner of her mouth.

Yeah. She knew.

There was no one around, not within his sight but Lennox knew better than to assume that no one was listening. Particularly when you were dealing with alien robots who could hear the sound of your heartbeat at twenty paces.

"Can you put up one of those privacy shields you guys have?"

One slender eyebrow rose but Will felt the resonance as Ironhide did as he asked. The faint whir of hydraulics behind him told Will that Ironhide was shifting his weight and it made him pause, trying to decide which form to look at. The hologram was still looking at him expectantly, her dark eyes curious, so he gave a mental shrug and stuck with that one, stepping in closer.

Privacy shield or not, Will couldn't help lowering his voice as he asked, "What's going on with Sam?"

Ironhide regarding him with a curious shrug, tipping her head to the side and long, brown hair slid in a silky fall over her pale shoulder. He…she should have pulled it back while on the shooting range but Will wasn't about to scold a being who was older than human civilization about protocol. If anyone could shoot with hair falling into their eyes, it had to be Ironhide.

"Not sure what you mean," Ironhide said coolly and she turned her gaze back to the weapon in her hands.

Pretty much the answer he'd expected and Will sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "We keep the living quarters of the city pretty well segregated, but you and I both know that people are everywhere and people see things. Like yesterday. So, do you want to tell me what's going on with the kid?"

The holo's expression didn't change but he could hear Ironhide shifting behind him, again. A large hand settled next to Will and he didn't turn around as he felt the sudden wash of heat from a mech leaning in close.

"What makes you think you need to know?" Came from a much deeper voice, behind him.

Almost involuntarily, Will looked up. Ironhide's true form was unmistakably masculine and again, perhaps it should be disturbing that it _wasn't_ bothering him. Not that he'd felt even the faintest interest in any of the male holoforms Ironhide had tried but this personality, packaged in that body...he shook those thoughts away, dismissing them as a distraction from the topic at hand. "We're protecting—"

That got him a snort of laughter as Ironhide slanted him a look, his optics narrowing to thin rims of blue. "Optimus might have persuaded you people into giving Sam his own rank here, but when it comes down to it, the kid is a civilian. _We're_ protecting him, we're taking care of him."

"I can't help but notice that you aren't denying that something is up." Will couldn't help the bitterness. A soft touch on his arm startled him and he very nearly lashed out with a closed fist but the woman who'd crept up on him silently didn't flinch. She was nearly his height, her body lithe and strong. Her dark eyes were fringed with long lashes, her mouth lush and faintly pouting, and the swell of her breasts was barely concealed by her tight tank top. If Ironhide was trying to distract him, he was using a very effective means of it.

"Now, see, you're all upset, aren't you, baby, " she cooed huskily against his ear and Will jerked back, glaring as the pretty false woman smirked at him. Strange how she didn't resemble 'Hide at all and yet, she did. It was in the eyes, the mockingly sweet curve of her mouth.

She sobered quickly and looked away, back over the range. "It's like this; the kid is a civilian. Yeah?"

"Yes," Will gritted out.

"Yeah, well, you aren't," 'Hide shot back, dark eyes flashing with something close to anger. "I trust_you_, Lennox, but you aren't your own man any more than I'm my own mech. We both owe vows to someone else, and I've met some of 'em that pull your strings. It's them I don't trust."

"You can't tell me because I might have to report it to someone else," Will said wearily and Hide smirked again, reaching out and laying one slim hand in the middle of Will's chest.

"Who says there's anything to tell?"

Will exhaled slowly, ignoring the heat bleeding through his shirt from that single touch. "If there ever is, I want you to know you can trust me. No one is going to pull my strings on that."

"Sure, babe," She gave him a tight, cynical smile. "Sure."

The rifle was laying abandoned against the small ridge of stone that Ironhide had been sprawled on, and suddenly Lennox was itching to pull the trigger, to smell oily residue and the faint smoke, similar to the smoky tone of Ironhide's voice. To watch a target explode from his bullet. "Still feel like killing some cardboard?"

"Think I feel like something else." The fingers resting on his chest curled until Will could feel the sting of short nails digging in through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It switched to a sudden shove and Will found himself sprawled on his back in the dirt, his wrists pinned to the ground by inhumanly strong hands.

It was difficult to offer any objection when Ironhide was straddling his lap, the firm curve of her ass pressing right at crotch level but Will gave it his best shot, protesting weakly, "Right here? Anyone could see us!"

"Baby, I will know if anyone gets close enough to see anything." Dark brown eyes looked hotly into his own, a flicker of soft tongue wetting full lips before Ironhide leaned in to whisper against his mouth, "Come on, give it to me."

Put like that, Will wasn't sure how to say no.

* * *

_Eleven Hours to Mission Time_

There was very little mission prep that Ratchet was required to perform, even with the unusual addition of organics to their ranks. Like any good medic, he kept the necessary supplies on hand at all times in case of any eventuality. Even when they weren't diving headlong into possible Decepticon territory, there was always the chance of surprise attack and injuries that had nothing to do with battle had a way of cropping up at inopportune times.

In other words, Ratchet was used to being surrounded by idiots and the only defense he had against that was a bad temper and abundant supplies.

The infirmary was as well stocked as it could possibly be, as was his field kit. Much as he complained about using the supplies that the humans offered it was certainly better than nothing and Ratchet had had about enough of making do with that.

The preparations were done, nothing needed his attention. Which was a pity because his attention could certainly use something to focus on. Not that he didn't have plenty to do but his patience, always in short supply, was riding a fine line today and so Ratchet kept himself to the infirmary, going over the mission parameters.

What had started as a standard Decepticon pursuit had in one spark turned into Primus knew what. A search and rescue? A mercy killing of one of their enemies? There was no telling. The transmission Sam had discovered and subsequently broadcast had been sadly devoid of clues.

No matter how many times Ratchet went over the transmission, the only thing he could detect was that the mech sending it was in a great deal of pain and was transmitting helplessly. There was no indication of their designation or affiliation that Ratchet could detect, but as he'd said many times, he was a medic. Not a scientist, not an engineer, not a fragging counselor and he damn well wasn't a communications officer either.

Not for the first time, Ratchet found himself wishing that someone useful would land on the planet for once. Not that warriors weren't useful but at this point he would take a mech who'd been a sparkling science teacher. At least that might be a little helpful. Since Jazz had died...no. Ratchet viciously suppressed that line of thinking. He wasn't about to start blaming the dead for his problems.

On his own, all he could do was provide a clumsy analysis. Optimus had accepted his inexpert assessment of the transmission without complaint and modified their mission parameters accordingly.

Not that Ratchet had anything to do with that. Of the many things he wasn't, he also wasn't a tactician. He would be there as medical support only as per protocol. Medics only fought when desperation required it and Ratchet didn't particularly want to face Ironhide if he broke that rule, providing he survived breaking it. No point in handing the Decepticons his head on a silver platter, now was there.

He'd probably hear an audio about it from Optimus too, and...just thinking of Optimus made heat rise in his circuits and Ratchet was sourly grateful to be alone in the infirmary for once. Ironhide for one would never let a heat surge like that pass by without a little needling.

Really, it was past ridiculous. They'd broken off their relationship, whatever it was, for less than twenty-four hours; there was no excuse for how badly Ratchet wanted...well. How badly he _wanted_.

They'd already spend the better part of the night interfacing, to the point that even Optimus had fallen into an exhausted recharge. Much as he'd like to shuffle off the blame, his exposure to Bumblebee and Sam's coupling could only excuse so much. Ratchet's joints still felt a little loose in their sockets, the peculiar ache caused by pleasurable energy surges still twanging through his circuits and here he was, on the edge of sending a message to Optimus to see if he might be up for just one more round-

No. Thinking about this was not helping.

With a heavy vent of air, Ratchet went over his equipment list again and ignored the ragged edge of desire nagging at him.

* * *

_10.45 Hours to Mission Time_

"Is this...is this all right?" Will gasped. His heels were scrabbling in the dirt, searching for leverage. Not that Ironhide intended to allow him any. An arch of his back, a deliberate shift of his weight, and Ironhide had the human pinned helplessly beneath him again.

Perfect.

But Lennox had asked a question. Ironhide shrugged, tipping his head back to feel the warmth of the sunlight against his bare human skin. He'd conceded enough to their position to drag Lennox behind an outcropping of rock before he'd straddled the human and held him down, but that had been the only concession Ironhide had been willing to make. Damn, but this was fun. "Beats me, never done this before."

"You're...a virgin?"

Something in Lennox's voice, almost horrified, made Ironhide search the term on the internet. He snorted aloud. "Will, I've been fucking around since before your species walked upright. Just because the technique is new doesn't mean I don't know how it ends."

Although this certainly was a new technique, not that Ironhide would admit it. Most of his clothes had been long-ago dissolved, his bare toes just touching the edge of Lennox's trousers where they were shoved down by his thighs. He'd left the tank top, bunched up under his arms so that Lennox could cup the soft swells of his breasts in his large hands. For some reason Will had liked that and so long as he kept stroking his thumbs over Ironhide's nipples, he'd be happy to keep it that way. Lennox was still mostly dressed, including his boots, an allowance to the fact that his clothes couldn't reappear in a heartbeat. But for now, no one was close enough to so much as glimpse them, which was a good thing. Ironhide wasn't entirely sure he'd stop even if they did.

He didn't want this to stop.

Leaning down, Ironhide bit the middle of Lennox's chest, hard enough to make the human curse but he bucked up as well, the connection of their bodies from between Ironhide's legs deepening. Ironhide only laughed, licking the tiny wound and absently noting the composition of the human's sweat as he sat back up, spreading his legs a little wider so he could take more.

The first push of Lennox into his body had been...strange. Unfamiliar. Mechs didn't just insert their parts into others. In this form it hadn't been precisely painful but not all that thrilling either. Ironhide wriggled and squirmed, ignoring Will's gasps as he tried to decide if his body actually liked this.

Bumblebee had designed the schematics for both male and female holos, but since he'd obviously chosen male for his own, perhaps there was a design flaw. Not that it felt bad, just...weird. Pleasant but not overwhelming him with ecstasy as the internet had led him to believe.

He rocked his hips again with a frown, letting the hard length of Will's cock slide out of him and then back in. Ah, perhaps like that. Certainly Will appreciated it, arching up with a strangled groan. "Ah, ah, God, 'Hide, that...ah, fuck...stop a second, I'm gonna come if you don't..."

The human was shaking, like the strain of holding back was physically hurting him and Ironhide frowned again. This was supposed to be enjoyable and so far it wasn't working out for either of them. "So come if you have to. We can do it again."

Will shook his head frantically, his short hair dark with sweat that was running down his face as well, gleaming in the sunlight. "No, I want you to, this is your first time...oooh, hold still!"

Bullshit on that. "This isn't a trial run and I'm not gonna run out and snag someone else if you don't blow my circuits the first time out. We can do it _again_."

Ignoring the human's pleading, Ironhide shifted again, grinding his hips down. Yeah, that felt good, it felt _deep_ but it wasn't until Lennox shifted one trembling hand down between his legs, rubbing his thumb over the slick folds, that Ironhide felt a hard jolt of pleasure.

"Oh, yeah," he groaned, moving his hips so that he could feel Lennox sliding in him with the same rhythm. Oh, fuck, yes, that was perfect.

"Ah," Ironhide gasped out, tipping his head back as Will rubbed hard right _there. _He felt his body tighten, something as bright and sharp as an overload jolting him and Will choked out his own cry, spilling wet warmth inside him.

Trembling, Ironhide rested his weight on his hands. Primus, that had been something, hadn't it. Will was panting beneath him, his eyes half-closed and Ironhide managed to give him a grin.

"Don't let me down yet," Ironhide purred. "I did say we could do it again." He ignored the human's groan, already rocking his hips again. A mech had to chase his own overloads, after all, but he was happy to bring Lennox along for the ride.

* * *

_Six Hours to Mission Time_

Bumblebee made his way through the city, carefully, staying in his mech form for a change. There were so many vehicles rushing around, so many soldiers loading weapons and equipment, it seemed safer to walk rather than maneuver between them.

Arcee passed him at one point, a soldier than Bee didn't know clinging to her handlebars and Bee shook his head. Of all of them, Arcee was the one who hated shuttling around the humans the most, so why she'd chosen a form that made her so accessible to them was anyone's guess. Perhaps she just liked the irony.

The main administration building had humans running in and out of it, many of them with their arms full of papers and laptops. Which was…unusual to say the least. Bumblebee had been introduced to a few of the visiting scientists but he didn't really know any of them, so it wasn't much of a surprise when none of them offered him much more than a wary look to make sure he was watching where he stepped.

A large truck pulled up on the street behind him, barely stopping before people started climbing inside. Through a megaphone, a loud, familiar voice boomed, "This truck is leaving in ten minutes, people, so get loaded and let's get going!"

The person who was attached to the voice, Sergeant Epps, hopped out of the passenger side, shooing people into the back of the truck.

Interesting. Evacuating the city wasn't completely unexpected. Optimus was probably going to leave a skeleton crew to watch over things but most of the Autobots would be coming along. If the Decepticons wanted to take advantage of their absence, may as well not leave much for them to shoot at. Buildings they could repair; people, not so much.

Sam would be in his new quarters, along with his parents and Mikaela but they could hardly cram all the visiting scientists in there and there hadn't been time for them to build any other emergency bunkers. What they had would hold off all but the most brutal of attacks until backup arrived. Bumblebee would have insisted on that if Optimus hadn't.

The hallways in main administration were mostly empty already and Bee easily made his way to the room where Optimus had summoned him. The table was large enough that Optimus could sit at it, although he had to sit on the floor, and Prowl was standing behind him. With Optimus sitting, they were close to the same height and both had their optics on Bumblebee, their expressions solemn.

Well, this certainly looked promising.

"You needed to see me, sir?" Bee asked, hoping that they took his wary tone as just harshness caused by previous injuries.

Optimus nodded slowly. His battle mask was withdrawn, for once, and it made him look all the graver. "Bumblebee, the mission will proceed as planned shortly."

"Yes, sir. I'm ready." More than ready. He owed Barricade some pain for what had happened to Sam in the jail cell that night but he was perfectly happy to give his share to any other Decepticon they might come across.

To his surprise, Optimus shook his head. "You are to remain here to monitor the attack and the city."

For a moment, Bumblebee was too shocked to speak and he actually stepped forward, ready to protest a direct order before he caught himself. Bumblebee wasn't exactly a front liner but he was more than capable. They hadn't seen a real fight since Mission City and he'd taken heavy damage then but that had been repaired for months now. A glance at Prowl offered no clue, his expression was bland and unrevealing.

A little tightly, he said, "May I ask why, sir?"

Optimus nodded, somberly, before he said, bluntly, "You cannot be away from Sam and he cannot come with us."

"But—" Bumblebee cut off his protest, sinking back on his heels. It was true. Who else could stay with Sam? Considering his condition, the list of mechs he truly trusted with the human was laughably short, starting and ending with Bumblebee. Even if he charged Sam fully before leaving, there was no telling when they would return and Sam's energy consumption was aggravatingly inconsistent. He might trust another Autobot to protect Sam but to _touch_ him...no.

No.

"Understood," Bee said, crisply, his arguments vanishing even as he felt a twinge of guilt for staying behind.

"Good. We'll establish a secure line of communication to keep you informed before we leave."

Prowl stepped forward, a data pad in hand. "All the scientists in the city are being evacuated for their protection and a squad of human soldiers will remain with you, along with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker."

"The twins?" Bee blurted out before he could catch himself. Of all the guardians he might have expected, Sunstreaker was not on the list, not even in the reserves. Sideswipe was only absent from it because of Sunstreaker. Leaving Bee behind was irritating but excusable, but leaving two of their best warriors while they went into battle against an unknown force?

What in the name of Primus was going on?

"You have rank, Bumblebee. Not that I expect Sunstreaker to obey you," Prowl said, dryly. "But Sideswipe will no doubt side with you and between the two of you, I think you can handle him. Hopefully, there will be nothing that requires handling."

"Prime," Bumblebee began, hesitantly, only to fall silent when Optimus held up a hand.

"Now is not the time."

The door opening behind him startled Bumblebee, and he stepped aside enough for Ironhide to push his way through the door. Captain Lennox followed and the scent of soap still clung to him but it did nothing to disguise from Bumblebee's sensors the fact that he'd engaged in some sexual act in the past few hours. Enthusiastically, from the amount of pheromones he was still exuding.

From the chemical configuration, it'd been with an Autobot holoform, not that he needed his sensors to tell him that, not with the smirk Ironhide sent his way.

Oh, that was just wrong. Dear Primus, and he'd thought Optimus and Ratchet were bad for his processors.

"Most of the humans are cleared out, Prime," Ironhide drawled, lowering a hand to boost Lennox up on the table. The human nodded, seating himself on the table without a hint of discomfort.

"The last of the civilians will be gone by sixteen-hundred. Except for the Witwickys and Miss Banes," Lennox said, pulling out his own data pad. "Prowl, my people already have their orders. Any modifications I should know about?"

"None, thus far," Prowl said, calmly, and he held up a hand to silence Lennox, his optics on Bumblebee. He raised one optic ridge, questioningly, "You're dismissed."

Oh, right. Bumblebee gave them a curt nod and stepped out. Not part of the battle meant not part of the plan, which meant he needed to hit the pavement. The second the door shut behind him he felt a privacy shield engage.

And...now what. Bumblebee stood uncertainly outside the door, somewhat at a loss. He could go to the monitoring room now, of course, but the others weren't leaving for six hours and so far as he knew Jolt was on monitor duty right now. There was nothing he really needed to do...

...except check on his human friends. As a mech, Bumblebee didn't have a proper mouth made for grinning but he could chuckle wickedly, transforming and speeding down the empty hallways. He could think of one way to entertain himself, anyway. Ironhide did occasionally have a good idea.

Careening around a corner, he nearly ran smack into Ratchet and only paused long enough to honk an apology, ignoring the medic's loud threats and curses. He didn't quite dare ignore the incoming message and braced himself for the barrage before he opened a line.

_::You'd make a good toaster, Bee!::_

_::Sorry, have to take care of a friend::_ he sent back cheekily._ ::Doctor's orders, remember?::_

_::Go easy on the kid::_ Came back, grumpily. _::I might have my hands full in a few hours, I do not need to be taking care of him again, too.::_

It was sobering reminder of what they were about to face. _::Take care of them, Ratchet.::_

_::Don't I always?::_ There was a light brush of emotion, startling Bumblebee with its genuine affection, and then Ratchet closed the connection.

Bee let it go, speeding down the corridor to the main entrance. He only had six hours, after all, might as well make the most of them.

* * *

_Four Hours to Mission Time_

It was times like this that being a Senior Officer wasn't worth a waste bucket to purge in. Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest and focused on pretending that he cared about listening to the mission parameters.

Again.

Not that he didn't understand that the humans couldn't just accept a data packet but why he needed to be hear listening to it was beyond him. Just tell him where the wounded were and Ratchet would be there. End of discussion. But Prowl wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings and so here they were. Again.

"…are there any questions so far," Prowl asked. Several humans were standing around the holographic display of the designated area. Squad leaders, damned if Ratchet knew their names. He recognized Lennox and he at least was worth a little interest. It was a shame that Ironhide was far past any embarrassment over his sexual antics or Ratchet could have had a little fun needling him over it. As it was, he was composing a very sincere request for a vid file of whatever they had done. With Ironhide he at least had a chance of getting one.

He stifled the urge to roll his optics as one of the humans pointed out an area that Ratchet was certain had been discussed before.

A message flashing in his HUD startled him so much that Ratchet almost jumped and wouldn't that have pleased the humans. It certainly would have pleased Ironhide. He accepted it with resignation, already knowing who it was from.

_::Are we boring you?::_

_::Not at all, Prime. I always spent my free time fighting recharge::_ he replied acidly.

_::Perhaps you should get more rest.::_ No hint of anything but sincerity but Ratchet knew better. There was no good way to glare at Optimus without the humans seeing but he could certainly deepen their connection enough to send his emotions that way, a metaphorical glare being better than nothing.

Ratchet only realized the mistake he'd made when Prime responded, and the emotion he pushed through was anything but the dignified face he was showing their allies. A hot pulse of_desire/want/need_ throbbed over the connection and through his firewalls before he could close them. His responding tremor was so sharp that he had to catch his balance, all eyes and optics on him for just a moment. He waved them back to the display impatiently, ignoring Ironhide's knowing snicker.

_::You are going to pay for that::_

A low mental chuckle. _::I'll look forward to it. I trust you're no longer bored?::_

His only response to that was a hiss of static before he closed the link.

Primus be damned, that he certainly hadn't needed. He'd already been riding on the edge of some kind of desperate need all day. Something was wrong but Ratchet couldn't place what it was. The night before each interface with Optimus had been ever more desperate, each one needier, more disjointed. Even now he was stifling the frantic urge to ask Optimus to go _again_ and they were in the middle of strategizing a mission!

Maybe he was finally losing his blasted mind.

At least going over his own protocols gave him something to do. A clean bill of health didn't necessarily mean something wasn't wrong, only that his protocols didn't register it as an actual problem. Beneath the drone of Prowl talking with the humans, the occasional rumble of Optimus adding his input, Ratchet pretended interest as he went over his own code, trying to identify what was shaking him so badly.

Immersed in his diagnostic, he missed the first time Prowl said his name and only snapped to attention when he repeated it, loudly.

"Ratchet, if I could have a moment of your time?" Prowl said, sharply, and only one who knew him well would hear his impatience.

"Yes?" Ratchet said, barely able to keep himself from snapping it.

"I said, we may be encountering a badly injured mech. I trust that you're prepared for that eventuality?"

Again, he stifled himself from saying what he wanted to say, which was that he didn't need Prowl to tell him how to do his fucking job. All of them had been so close for so very long they were practically family, and like family, Ratchet cared about them all but there were times he didn't like them very much.

"Yes," Ratchet ground out. He and Prowl glared at each for only microseconds but it was Prowl who relented, going back to the building schematics as he pointed out structural deficiencies and exit zones. Ratchet tuned it out and went back to his diagnostic, inwardly frustrated when it again came back clean.

Perhaps it was more of an emotional issue? In a few hours they might be encountering many badly injured mechs, including any of them at this table. He'd seen all of them hurt at one time or another, dripping energon from gaping wounds as Ratchet struggled to save them, their optics flickering and on the edge of going out forever.

Like Jazz.

Even Optimus, the strongest out of any of them, had seen his share of wounds. And surely would again, he would be in the thick of this battle, just as he was in all of them. Their leader was too powerful to spare and too valuable to use the way they did but it came down to choices and the Autobot army was running low on those right now. Just the thought of Optimus getting hurt dulled his urge to interface and replaced it with something else, something that made him flinch visibly.

Ironhide, more observant than most gave him credit for, gave him a concerned look but Ratchet shook his head and he accepted it, focusing his attention back on the briefing. Probably on Lennox as well, they were all fools in paradise, weren't they.

Ratchet only hesitated a moment before silently implementing a protocol seamlessly into his processors. Instantly, he relaxed, concerns fading away as he focused on Prowl's directions and nothing else.

The mission was what was important for right now and it was time he gave it the attention it deserved.

* * *

_Three Hours to Mission Time_

"Be careful," Mikaela said. Her arms were crossed over her chest, nails digging into her palms as she resisted the urge to kiss him. Half a dozen of the soldiers were around and she wasn't sure what they thought about the 'Bots fraternizing with the humans.

Prowl had no such compunction and his lips were warm, his breath sweet when he sighed into her mouth. "I shall. And please," a note of frustrated pleading entered his normally calm voice, "Listen to Bumblebee until I get back?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "You got it, boss."

That much she could give him, at least.

* * *

_Two hours to Mission Time_

Sam bit hard down on his knuckle, dimly tasting blood and it was only when Bumblebee gentle took his hand and tugged it free that he noticed.

"Don't hurt yourself," Bumblebee whispered and it was the best kind of obscene, to hear that roughened voice at the same time a hot, wet mouth surrounded him, warm hands on his thighs and on his wrists as strong arms held him.

Green eyes gleamed up at him, from above a pink, swollen mouth that was sucking him and Sam whimpered, biting his tongue instead because Jesus fuck, his parents were downstairs and Bumblebee had hauled him into the closet again or should he say Bumblebees and fuck, add this to his growing list of kinky sex acts.

"I told you I was good at splitting my perception," Bee murmured into his ear, damp lips brushing against sensitive skin. "Now, spread your legs just a little, won't you?"

Hazily, Sam obeyed the pressure of one set of hands and only had time to be grateful that at least one of them could cover his mouth with a free hand, babbling curses into the cup of a palm as Bumblebee pressed into him, surrounded him and fuck yes.

Yes.

* * *

_One Hour to Mission Time_

"They have the area evacuated," Lennox was saying, standing next to the truck that would transport him. "Went with the whole gas leak line so if we end up with a few explosions, we'll be able to explain them easily enough to the media."

"Very good, Captain Lennox," Optimus said. He'd heard the human but his attention was divided, his optics on the Autobot approaching him, the pristine gleam of his yellow armor.

He halted in front of Optimus, almost trembling with unspoken tension. His optics dipped briefly, giving Lennox a disdainful glance before locking back on Optimus.

Ah. Of course.

"Please excuse us, Captain," Optimus asked, quietly polite.

The human gave him a look, glancing at Sunstreaker before he nodded slowly. "You got it."

They stood in silence, the setting sun slanting in glimmering lines over their armor as Lennox climbed into the truck and shouted for the driver to get moving. The engine snarled as it started up and trundled away, leaving Optimus alone with Sunstreaker.

For all his strength and skill, Sunstreaker was not particularly tall for a mech. Both Ironhide and Ratchet were taller than the twins, and Optimus towered over them all. Sunstreaker stood a distance away to be able to meet Optimus's optics without straining.

"Permission to speak, sir," Sunstreaker said, his voice mod cool, a sharp contrast to the heat in his optics.

"Granted," Optimus replied, bracing himself for what was sure to be an angry onslaught.

For all that, Sunstreaker didn't immediately reply, only glared at his commander. "You're leaving us here."

"I am," Optimus agreed. "I need you and your brother to guard the city in our absence."

Sunstreaker gave him a thin smile. "I can tell when I'm being bullshitted. Sir."

"Can you?" Optimus asked, with calm politeness. "Then perhaps _you_ can tell me what it is that I mean when I say I need you and your brother here, protecting the city and its occupants."

"Protecting humans." The glow of his optics was volcanic.

"The city's occupants, yes."

"Humans or _one_ human."

For a moment Optimus said nothing, then he stepped closer, crouching down in front of the sullen mech before he said, softly, "I believe I've had enough of you questioning orders for one day, soldier."

The heat in Sunstreaker's optics shifted, cooled, into glittering amusement. "Yes, sir," and as Optimus turned away, much softer. "I won't forget this."

Optimus gave him a thin smile of his own before snapping his battle mask into place. "I expect you won't."

* * *

00:00

The darkness would add what protection it could from prying human eyes. It had been part of the plan from the beginning and Autobots hardly needed daylight to track other Cybertronians.

The human vehicles were running, suspended anxiety as they all waited and with a last check, Optimus nodded to his troops and transformed, issuing a last command.

"Autobots, roll out."

tbc


	45. InternalExternal Conflicts

**Title: ** Internal/External Conflicts**  
****Author: **Keelywolfe

**Note: S**orry for the long wait, folks, this chapter took it's time. Thank you everyone for continuing to read this story that doesn't want to end and thank you to everyone who comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The checkpoint guards were as cool and professional as they had always been, although Optimus knew that they were much more heavily armed than was normal. Two humans, no matter how well-fortified, would hardly be able to withstand a frontal assault but that combined with the newly finished shield array would hopefully give them enough time to warn the others as they made their escape.

It made Optimus deeply uncomfortable to risk these human lives. He had, as diplomatically as possible, pointed out to Lennox that the entire city was surrounded by the very best surveillance equipment that Cybertronians could provide using Earth's resources. Both Lennox and Prowl had dismissed his protests. Surveillance equipment could be circumvented in ways that living eyes could not and the guards had had to deal with lost or curious humans at times as well. Abandoning the guard post was not an acceptable option and the guard shifts around the perimeter had been increased accordingly.

They were correct, Optimus knew, and so he had relented. Lennox was responsible for his troops as Optimus was for his, and he understood the necessity of putting lives in danger.

A quick scan was standard procedure before exiting the city. Optimus remained still as the young Lieutenant ran his wand over Optimus. It was Ratchet's design, sized for much smaller hands and with the knowledge that their humans required their equipment to speak in plain English. Or in this case, it flashed cheery green lights, indicating that Optimus was clean and free to leave. Not that anyone expected Optimus of all mechs to be carrying anything elicit but he was firm in that no one was above the rules and policies instated, including himself.

"Good to go, Sir," the Lieutenant waved him through.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Grant," Optimus said, loud enough to be heard over the rumble of a dozen different engines. "I look forward to seeing you on our return."

Grant gave him a startled smile, quickly stifled under military professionalism. Optimus made a point of knowing the names of anyone under his service, even those in the peripheral. Every being here, mech or human, was risking their life. He owed them to at least know their names.

The guards were efficient, quickly shuttling through all the transformed mechs and military vehicles in moments, and soon they were traveling along the rough road that led to the highway. Their long caravan was interspersed with a variety of military vehicles and he wondered with some bemusement what any vehicles they might pass would make of the configuration.

The Cybertronians didn't need to be close for semi-private conversation and Optimus received a request for an open channel almost the moment they passed through the outer gates. He allowed it, unsurprised that the first voice was Ironhide's gruff one.

_::May as well kiss the city goodbye while you can::_ Ironhide grumbled. _::Primus knows what'll be left with those three in charge.::_

_::I highly doubt that Bumblebee and Sideswipe will bring down the city and Sunstreaker can only do so much damage on his own::_Prowl replied serenely.

_::Still can't believe you left those two.::_

_::A necessary evil:: _Optimus added, almost amused. _::We cannot all remain in the city. The remaining Decepticons on Earth must be dealt with. That this first confrontation is close to our home base is both convenient and suspect.::_

_::Yeah, yeah,:_: Ironhide said, _::A trap, maybe. Probably. We've heard it. The humans heard it.::_

_::Yet, it is not feasible for us to ignore::_ Prowl added calmly. _::We are at a disadvantage already simply because our enemy certainly know our location. They are also aware that Samuel Witwicky is with us and that he will likely remain in the city.::_

_::Just call the kid Sam, would you? Humans don't stand on much ceremony::_Ratchet interjected.

_::It's his proper designation-::_

_::You scream out Mikaela Banes, Mikaela Banes, at night when you play your little simi games?::_

_::As I was saying,:: _Prowl continued, unruffled, _::We cannot remain in the city forever and we need to end this stalemate. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are quite capable of defending against any of the known Decepticons on Earth, and many of the unknown, particularly with Bumblebee assisting.::_

_::Primus, you do, don't you!::_ Ratchet demanded gleefully, _:: You really use her full name! I'm not sure whether to be amused or disturbed.::_

_::Could we please stay on the subject at hand?::_

_::Subject on hand is boring. We've heard it all.::_

_::Ratchet.:: _From Optimus, and Ratchet subsided immediately. He might not be the most compliant mech in the ranks but he could always trust Ratchet to follow necessary orders. The urge to add a private message was strong but Optimus resisted it. There were any number of ways Ratchet might react to that and at least half of them were negative. It was one of the most intriguing and frustrating aspects of Ratchet, the inability to anticipate his reactions.

Certainly he hadn't expected Ratchet to attempt to interface him into stasis last night, a few parts of him still ached-

_::Yeah, let's talk about Prowl's sex life later,:_: Ironhide added, lazily, breaking through Optimus's thoughts even as he firmly set the memories behind a firewall. Teasing aside, now was not the time for distractions. Ironhide seemed amused at the direction of the conversation, though the grimness in his thoughts was clear as he added_. ::Let's talk about how we're just about using that kid as bait.::_

_::That 'kid', as you say, will be lure for the Decepticons no matter what we do.::_ Prowl said, a little stiffly. _::If you have a better strategy for allowing for us to protect him as well as defend this planet against our enemy, I am always open to reasonable discourse.::_

_::You know I don't:: _Ironhide growled. _::But I'm kinda fond of the kid.::_

_::I don't believe our fondness for him has been questioned.::_ Prowl said, the growing crack in his serenity audible_. ::I for one would like to maintain a safe haven for all our human friends.::_

_::Bumblebee will watch out for them, Prowl::_ Ratchet this time, with marked gentleness. _::And Sideswipe.::_

_::And Sunstreaker probably won't squish 'em before we get back,:_: Ironhide added with mock brightness.

_::I can always rely on you to raise my spirits,::_Prowl said dryly.

_::Enough,:: _Optimus said firmly, closing the connection. They had…what was the phrase? Ah, 'blown off enough steam' and now was time to focus. The mission coordinates were fast approaching and there was too much unknown for them to be at any less than their most alert.

Bumblebee had discovered the thermic trace of a Cybertronian a short time ago but it had taken him a little time to triangulate the position. There had been some kind of interference and he had been unable to determine if it was deliberate or as simple as an environmental issue. The planet itself seemed to, at times, be determined to hinder their location efforts.

The coordinates from the transmission that Sam had detected had narrowed the search considerably but had complicated their mission accordingly. Whether the mech sending the transmission was an Autobot or a Decepticon, whether it was even a cry for help or simply the last, lingering broadcast from someone spiraling into permanent deactivation was unknown.

That the signal was very close to their home territory was suspect. It was possible that the mech was following their beacon and had been too weak after landing to complete the journey to the city. It was also possible that the Decepticons were luring them out into some sort of trap. There were any other number of possibilities, both likely ones and those bordering on the absurd. Too many unknown variables, Prowl had complained, but in the end, he'd agreed that a front-on assault was the best course of action.

A stalemate, Prowl had called this, an apt human phrase. If they remained in the City, the remaining Decepticons were free to roam Earth as they pleased and if they left, they City itself and their companions were vulnerable.

It was a chance that Optimus had decided they needed to take.

The vehicle in front of Optimus, human-driven, was leading them in, down an overgrown dirt road towards a series of dilapidated buildings that were on the outskirts of a much larger human settlement. Through the darkness, the city lights were brilliant and not nearly as distant as Optimus would have preferred. Large mechs had large, destructive battles and much as the human government would prefer their presence to be a secret for the time being, Optimus was far more concerned with their unknown mech destroying half the city simply trying to flee from them.

The building itself had very little light, not that any of the Autobots required it, but the humans were quickly and efficiently setting up portable lamps. Stealth would be impossible in this situation, none of Optimus's troops were wasting any energy on shielding and if the mech were conscious, he would have recognized their thermal signatures instantly.

The vehicle in front of Optimus slowed to a stop, and Lennox climbed out deliberately, his weapon at the ready.

Patiently, Optimus waited as Lennox conferred over his headset before saying loudly, "Okay, this area's been cleared. You guys are safe to come out."

He heard the others transform quickly, noted the almost absent way Lennox ran a hand over Ironhide's hood just before his Weapons Specialist stood, and wondered if the human even realized he'd done it. That was an unexpected development but not an unwelcome one. Ironhide was an old, old friend, and it soothed Optimus to see him with some measure of happiness.

Many of the windows were missing panels of glass and those that remained were coated in filth. The buildings themselves were large, just taller than Optimus himself, an abandoned power plant of some sort, Lennox had informed him. Full of old equipment and sized well for a mech to hide in, no matter what form he chose.

Over his com link, Optimus could hear the background chatter of the humans, ready to send in an air strike at a moment's notice if necessary. Some discretion was required for the moment; a chemical leak, as had been reported to the humans in the area, could only explain so much. Truth be told, according to Prowl's calculations, they had certainly over-prepped for this mission but it was their first one with the humans and they didn't want to take any chances, particularly with their allies.

With care, Optimus took the lead, striding into the weathered remains that surrounded the building. It had been fascinating to see places like this on this world. Abandoned places left to the elements, their once proud forms beaten back to the Earth.

Perhaps it was morbid but it reminded him, somewhat painfully, of Cybertron. Earth was a living planet, there was no question of that, but Cybertron was alive in more of a visceral sense. Made of the same components as its inhabitants, Cybertron did more than simply exist around them, it was one of them. Their home, something like a parent, in the human sense of the word.

Towards the end, sights like this one were common. War-torn buildings collapsing beneath their own shattered weight. Towers that once gleamed, exuding a life force of their own, had become little more than vicious scars on their former home, and a planet that had once been teaming with the sights and sounds of millions of his people had been left with nothing but echoing silence and scattered remains.

Cybertron had been dying even before the loss of the Allspark, Megatron's insanity leading him to commit the most unthinkable of murders. There was nothing left there for them to return to and Optimus had found himself a leader with few to lead, little more than a figure head who could offer his kind only the barest of comforts, who was forced to beg the inhabitants of his world for reluctant sanctuary.

Standing here, surrounded by the surreality, Optimus couldn't stop the aching loss from rising up from his spark. On this planet, even without human intervention, the weather patterns would eventually wear away these remnants but Cybertron would remain mostly unchanged, a shrine to the death of their civilization by his brother's hand.

The crackle of a faltering incoming transmission was a welcome distraction, all them stilling as Ratchet raised a hand, focusing on it. Out of all of them, Ratchet had the most sensitive sensor arrays. They were intended for use in his capacity as a medic but over the years all of them had become adept at taking on secondary roles. The message was on a cycle, weakly repeating its loop over and over. Even in the short time it had taken them to organize either a battle or an impromptu rescue, it had grown weaker.

Whoever they were, friend or enemy, unknown, they were slowly dying.

_::There:: _Ratchet indicated, sending each of them a spat of localized coordinates.

_::Didn't much need 'em::_ Ironhide sent in a low drawl, _::I can smell whoever they are.::_

_::Then we'll put you on a leash so you can take the lead::_ Ratchet shot back, _::There's a good boy.::_

The message came again, and again, Optimus shuffled it aside, unreceived. They'd all been thoroughly warned against allowing the link. Much as they were all well protected against intrusive viruses, according to Ratchet the transmission only ever contained screaming, scattered words of pleading.

The humans were fanning out behind them, in formation, waiting for any indication of whether they were facing a friend or enemy. Lennox was in the lead and no one protested Ironhide's position next to them. Not in front, much as he was sure Ironhide would prefer it, but if a frontal shot sent him backwards, he would crush the humans himself before a Decepticon could even try.

Ratchet's coordinates indicated that the signal was coming from the largest building, its startlingly enormous bay doors torn open. Fresh scrapes on paint and brick were far too recent to be caused by decay.

"Lennox, we will enter here," Optimus said quietly. "You and your men shall remain outside. Keep a watch for any indication of outside interference."

"Be a tight fit for you, Boss," Lennox replied, cautiously.

"Which indicates that whoever the signal belongs to is likely smaller than I am. Ratchet will stay with you."

To his troops, Optimus added, _::Prowl, Arcee Pink, stay with Ratchet and the humans::_

_::Guards? I'm honored.::_

He ignored Ratchet's barbed remark and Prowl merely nodded in wordless assent, Arcee's pink unit joining them. Not that Ratchet's comment was far from the truth. Their ranks of medics were far too precarious to risk any of them unnecessarily and though Prowl was nearly as valuable to them, of the two, they needed Ratchet more. Arcee's other two units and Jolt would be needed in the confined space of the building and Ironhide would never allow Optimus to go in without him.

Prowl, at least, certainly understood the tactics behind his choice. He hoped he would be able to deal with Ratchet's irritation later.

The large doorway still required Optimus to get on his hands and knees to crawl in. The Arcees and Jolt were on point, all their sensors straining to detect even the slightest movement as they waited tensely for Ironhide to follow Optimus, the larger mechs both vulnerable at the point of entrance.

There was no indication of any activity, no ambush. Inside, the building was mostly bare, with only a litter of trash and abandoned equipment coating the floor, faded graffiti scrawled over the walls. It was large enough that Optimus could stand upright, only ducking under the occasional catwalk. But the smell was thicker here and none of them needed a medic's sensitive instruments to detect the familiar composition of energon.

With a gesture, Optimus indicated that the Arcees should remain at the door, Ironhide and Jolt venturing deeper into the building with him. There were scrapes along the flooring, sections of tile that had been pulled loose from the passing of something much larger than a human, and further in, faint spatters of pink. Energon, the lighter pink an indication that it had once been inside a mech and it wasn't quite dry, still tacky yet to Optimus's touch.

It took energon some time to leave its liquid state and by Optimus's calculations, it had been here well over seventy-two Earth hours. Days before the transmission Sam had received.

Optimus winced at the force of the transmission as it suddenly slammed against his firewalls. He would have ignored it entirely but receiving indicated that the mech was still sending.

_::Whoever they are, they aren't trying to hide:: _Ironhide sent on a low frequency, scowling as he shook his head with his own wince.

_::I should think not,:: _Optimus replied, gesturing at the gashed flooring, another splash of energon on a wall. It was the shape of a handprint, Optimus realized, imaging the mech dragging themselves into the dubious safety of this shelter, pausing to lean against the wall. From the size of the print, he calculated the mech was no larger than Ratchet, perhaps even Bumblebee's size. The amount of energon was growing worrisome. A normal, healthy mech's systems would have already been working on sealed off any leaks, yet they were seeing more energon, not less. The wounded mech had to have been here for several days, perhaps even as long as a week. He was likely very close to leaking dry.

They moved further in, the only sound that of the heavy tread of their steps combined with the hum of their scans. There. His thermal scans detected a Cybertronian figure even as he glimpsed a filth-encrusted foot, protruding from a semi-hidden corner.

Oh. Optimus stared down, his spark lurching in recognition of a familiar form. Filthy and damaged, exposed wires throwing the occasional spark, his optics little more than a dim glow but recognizable for all that.

Ironhide, over his shoulder, "Is he—"

"No. Jolt, get Ratchet. Do not let down your guard."

Jolt darted out, and very quickly they heard the return of a heavier tread, Ratchet making his way through the wreckage with haste, cursing as he kicked aside the human refuse. He was on his knees by the mech in an instant, his hands a flurry of movement. Sealing lines that still dripped pinkish energon, and running scans.

Always, Ratchet murmured while he worked, a litany of medical terms that were useless to Optimus, but the large needle he revealed just before he sank it into his own energon lines gave answers of its own. The other end, Ratchet inserted into the injured mech's main line and the pink flowing through the clear tubing gave off a light of its own, casting them in an eerie glow.

Next to him, Optimus felt Ironhide shift uncomfortably and he had to suppress a blurt of humor that was certainly inappropriate. The large mech had always hated needles, any medical procedure far worse to endure than the injuries that required it.

Not that Ratchet would ever resist a chance to hassle Ironhide._ ::What's the matter, 'Hide, don't feel like donating today?::_ Then, without waiting for a reply, _::He's not in stasis, Optimus. Close thing, he's past running on fumes. ::_

Optimus was hovering over his shoulder, but silent. He knew better than to interrupt or to touch. At this moment, Ratchet might well take his hand off and then force him to carry it back to base himself.

"Most of this damage is superficial, Optimus," Ratchet said aloud, abandoning the com. "I can't find anything that should be causing the kind of pain he's in."

His hands moved with nimble expertise, testing audials before Ratchet said, loudly, "Blaster? Can you hear me?"

* * *

If there was one thing that Ratchet despised, it was field repairs. Not that he wasn't good at it; do anything enough times and you get pretty good, even if you hate it, and Ratchet had done this often enough to call himself a pit damned expert. Talent aside, he still hated it. Surgery was meant for clean rooms and the proper tools, not whatever jerry-rigged equipment he was able to haul around with him.

"Blaster? Come on, talk to me," Ratchet said, prodding around the filth at Blaster's throat, searching for any injury. Blaster's optics were already brighter from the energon transfusion. He'd need more than Ratchet had to spare but at least he wouldn't be offlining anytime soon.

There was no response, not so much as a faint hint of static and Ratchet made a rude sound, his touch and scans sliding down to the vocalizer. "No damage," he murmured aloud, "He's still sending the transmission."

"Any of his symbiotes make it with him?" Ironhide asked in a low rumble. Absently, Ratchet was aware of the larger mech running scans of his own, moving protectively around them.

"If you think I am opening up any part of him outside of a sterile field, you're glitched and I'll work on you next," Ratchet snapped, roughly tugging a hardline cable free from his own wrist. Next to him, he felt more than heard Optimus's faint sound of protest, quickly cut off. Good. The last thing he needed was an overprotective lover when he was trying to do his-

Instantly, Ratchet's processors sent a numbing rush over that line of thinking and Ratchet focused again on Blaster. Most of the damage seemed to be an endless supply of filth and with a quick swipe of a cleaning cloth, Ratchet managed to find a working data port and plugged it.

_PAIN! Pain, pain, pain, helpme helppainpainpain_

With a hiss of shock, Ratchet forcefully pushed back the frantic connection to a tolerable level, felt a large hand settle on his back for the briefest of moments before Optimus withdrew again. Almost, Ratchet called him back, almost soothed his own rattled nerves in that touch and again, that numbing coolness washed over him and left him with nothing but professionalism.

"I can't sedate him until I know what's wrong. He's aware we're here." His begging had taken on a frantic edge, wordless but emotionally devastating. Ratchet sent back as much soothing as he could through their limited connection, searching with as much haste as he could through files, system logs, anything indication of what was wrong.

There. A flare of redline agony threading through a foreign device. Ratchet withdrew from the hardline and unplugged it, turning Blaster on his side.

"Ah. Here we are." Sparks flew as he forcefully detached it and Blaster visibly sagged in relief, taut lines and hydraulics easing with the cessation of the pain. Ratchet examined the device critically. Tiny, barely the size of a human's hand. "Nasty little thing. It was connected to his neural lines and feeding him pain."

"Torture," Optimus said flatly.

"Punishment, maybe," Ironhide grunted, "If they didn't break him, might've want to let him suffer. But why cut him loose and not just kill him outright?"

"Who knows?" Ratchet dismissed it. The whys of it all were someone else's problem to figure out. " 'Cons are getting desperate. Could be they were just bored. His language centers are disconnected. Hold on, let me see—"

"Ironhide, Prowl has indicated the humans would like an update," Optimus said. Not quite an order and Ironhide scowled. Ratchet couldn't resist giving him a smirk, waggling the fingers of one hand in a backhanded wave.

The human gesture that Ironhide responded with was one greatly favored by the soldiers and earned him a smack on the head from Optimus.

"I'm on it," Ironhide grumbled, tromping heavily towards the entrance.

He was out of sight in seconds and to Ratchet's shock, the moment he was, a large hand settle on his shoulder, Optimus leaning over him, "How is he?"

Touch was not a stimulant to Autobots. Their sensors could indicate pleasure at a touch but it was very different from humans, registering as 'not pain' rather than as enjoyable. It should _not _have sent a blaze of warmth through Ratchet's neural net.

"He's…" Ratchet stuttered out, his vocalizer fritzing as he tried to focus. Again, his processors tried to shut down the rising heat, just as Ratchet had set them to do before the mission began but this time the two codes battled briefly in his processors, each attempting to overwrite the other. What the frag was going on?

Brief as the struggle was, it was enough for Ratchet to go completely still, ample time for Optimus to lean in close enough to feel the wash of heated air from the larger mech's vents. "Ratchet?"

Soft concern, even here in the field. Even with a battered comrade lying still beneath Ratchet's unmoving hands that deep, tender concern was turned his way and…

_Enough!_

Ruthless, Ratchet overrode that tingling warmth and focused back on his patient, shrugging Optimus away. "I'm not making any promises but I think Blaster will be fine. Most of the damage is just dirt and with his little personal torture device gone, he's not in any pain. I'll have to check for any neural damage yet, I couldn't get a good sense while we were hardlined."

Whatever Optimus had planned to say was cut off as Blaster's optics suddenly blazed to full life, his vocalizer creaking static and then, words blurred through it, Cybertronian, as he hissed out, "T-t-t-tra..p..p..T..rap…trap…trap."

"What…" Was all Ratchet managed before the explosion rocked them all, glass showering down on them as the concussive blast shattered the remaining windows. Time seemingly slowed in his processors, each second registering in long sweeps. The ground beneath them shaking from the force of the explosions, the warm splatter of energon over him as the line between him and Blaster was pulled painfully free when Ratchet was roughly wrenched away.

Yanked completely off his feet, a strong arm around him even though Ratchet easily outweighed Optimus in sheer mass, but when had Optimus ever let something as petty as physics get in his way?

He couldn't see a pit damned thing, dust and debris obscuring his optics and his equilibrium was completely lost, gyroscope reeling as he was bodily hauled out of the building, only barely able to see that Optimus had snatched up Blaster as well, the building collapsing around them like a familiar memory of battles on Cybertron. With brilliant clarity Ratchet was able to think that he was going to beat Optimus with his own arm for this stunt, could hear the gears stripping under the load he was carrying and then clear air surrounded him, the ground shockingly hard as it registered that he'd been physically thrown.

Thrown clear, Ratchet realized, staggering unsteadily to his feet and what had once been a shabby building was now little more than a collection of crumbling brick, the licks of fire curling up less than he had expected from the explosions. Through the thick dust and smoke, Ratchet could see Blaster, collapsed where he'd been thrown and two of Arcee's units were near him, straining to pull his heavier form away from the wreckage even as the human channels blared for fire support, for medical support, for…

There. From beneath the tons of cement blocks and metal sheeting, he could see a hand, large and familiar and still, the rest of Optimus still buried beneath the burning wreckage.

The sudden, brilliant pop!click in his processor was like a supernova, the numbness he'd set into place punched through with a vivid wash of agony, of a desperate internal scream and Ratchet barely felt it as the ground rushed up to meet him again.

* * *

When his optics onlined, the first thing Ratchet registered was a the face above him, so liberally coated with dust and soot that his paint wasn't even visible but Ratchet didn't need to see it to recognize him. Blearily, he reached up to touch, tracing one finger down a prominent dent in Optimus's cheek. In another instant, memory came back online and Ratchet blinked his optics, snatching his hand away as he sat up, scrambling back and away. With a scowl, he saw Ironhide crouched at his other side, and his expression was less than pleased, his frown like something from a human nightmare.

"You—" Ratchet started, weakly, optics flicking almost frantically to the collapsed building nearby but it was obvious that they had dug Optimus out while he'd still been lying in the dirt. Prime was a little worse for wear, nothing to get in a twist over and Ratchet's faint question was overrode by Ironhide's loud growl.

"What the burning fires of the Pit was that about!" Ironhide snarled out in Cybertronian, well aware of their human audience. "You don't have a scratch on you and you dropped like a weight!"

"It's nothing—"

"Don't you dare try that slag," Ironhide's voice was quiet, little more than a deadly whisper.

Ratchet sighed and looked away. No escaping this time and he was too exhausted for indignation. Quietly, he admitted, "Before we left the city, I wrote a process to route my higher emotional processors to go through my logic circuits instead."

The stunned silence was better than he had expected. A shame it didn't last. "Are you glitched or just fragging stupid?" Ironhide said harshly, though low enough not to be overheard. "That's dangerous in the best of times and you decided to give it a try just before a battle?"

"I know what I'm doing," Ratchet said impatiently.

"As demonstrated by your collapsing at our feet! You could've burned out your emotion circuits permanently, why in the Pit would you—" He trailed off, cast a glance at Optimus then back. Ironhide managed to glare at both of them with skill that Ratchet could appreciate. "Get this settled before someone gets killed," Ironhide said shortly. "I've lost enough friends without you two fucking each other over."

He stood in a flurry of shifting gears and hydraulics, storming away. Around them, the humans were still moving, putting out fires, the other Autobots assisting without so much as glancing at the two of them as they sat together. Ratchet kept his optics focused firmly on the ground. He didn't need to look up to know Optimus was gazing at him.

Hesitantly, one large, dusty hand rose, Optimus moving to touch him, the way Optimus did but Ratchet said sharply, "Don't." Vented in a cool rush of air because with the block removed, that strange need was burning through him again, as painful as the fire of planetary reentry. Without hesitation, he rewrote a new temporary block, just to get back to the base before he humiliated himself.

Something was definitely wrong but here was not the best place to determine what. With an effort, Ratchet managed to look up, met Optimus's optics with his own and almost winced at the emotions visible in them. This was such a slagging mess.

"Just…not right now," Ratchet grated out, watched miserably as Optimus relaxed, his optics brightening. Later, he told himself firmly, dragging up to his feet as he went to check on his newest patient.

He'd only just staggered up, Optimus visibly resisting the urge to help him, when Prowl appeared from the smoggy gloom, his normally impeccable armor encrusted with his own layer of gunk. "Optimus, we've lost contact with the City. I believe we should go back now. We'll leave the humans here and determine what happened later."

"Two traps in one day," Optimus said heavily, already stepping towards the road to transform.

"I'll come as soon as Blaster is stable," Ratchet said brusquely, already snapping to his duties. Ironhide followed his Prime along with Jolt, and the Arcee triplets twitched, nodding curtly to orders sent as they stood close to Ratchet, optics blazing as their scans went into high levels.

_::This would be why I recommended leaving the twins,::_Prowl sent over the open line and no one offered a protest, their tires squealing as they headed back towards their home.

tbc

**Note: **Next chapter won't take as long, I promise! Thank you for reading!


	46. Byplay

**Title:** Byplay  
**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** Transformers: Bayverse**  
****Series:** Human series  
**Summary: **Chapter 46 of the Human Series.

* * *

Half-hidden behind one of the outlying supply structures, Sideswipe watched as his team and the humans went through the checkpoint gate. It was almost amusing, seeing the brilliant colors of the Cybertronians sandwiched between the bland green paint of the military vehicles. It made for an interesting visual.

Next to him, Sunstreaker was leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest as he sulked like the brat that he was. Sideswipe didn't bother to keep that thought silent, didn't even wince at the rough nudge of his brother's temper. If he was wrong then Sunstreaker had yet to prove it to him.

With a little frown, Sideswipe noticed that there were two military vehicles in front of Optimus, one behind, and wondered at it. Did they think that they were protecting Prime somehow? Of all of them, Prime was the one who least needed it. It was a human convention that the leaders stayed far from the frontlines but amongst Cybertronians, it would have been a sign of cowardice. Even Megatron led his troops on the field of battle. The Decepticon army would never have existed if he hadn't; hiding while smaller mechs fought battles for you just wasn't done.

_::It's probably in case they feel the need to take us out. Prime would be a good starting point.:: _A bitter little murmur straight to Sideswipe's processor and he winced visibly, turning to glare at his brother.

It had been a long, long time since their spark link had been strong enough for them to actually speak to each other through it without a comline connection, and Sideswipe found that he was remembering exactly why he'd kept it closed off. Speaking over the com links was one thing, feeling trace emotions through their bond, but having a Sunstreaker that he couldn't block out of his mind was aggravating, to say the least. Disturbing was more accurate and just lately he'd been having his brother's thoughts drift into his own while they were recharging. It was not something he was enjoying.

There hadn't been time for him to talk to Ratchet about setting up a few specialized firewalls for him. The lecture he'd have to endure would have been well worth it.

"Either use your mouth or the com system," Sideswipe muttered, not bothering to protest Sunstreaker's assessment of their human comrades, partly because he couldn't say it wasn't true; even a few Autobots he could name were a little xenophobic. He wouldn't be surprised to know a few of the humans were as well and didn't blame them much, considering that the Decepticons were their first brush with Cybertronians. Megatron would challenge the acceptance of Primus himself.

Sideswipe half expected some vulgar comment about mouths to be deliberately sent through their connection and the fact that there wasn't one said something about how pissed off Sunstreaker still was.

Their connection went both ways and from his tentative brush against Sunstreaker's mind he got a rush of _anger/bitterness/anger/anger_. Yep, that was his personal ray of sunshine, all packed up in a very pretty form. At least it gave Sideswipe something to look at.

"Oh, come on, Sunny," Sideswipe gave him a little shove, flickering his optics as Sunstreaker scowled and glanced down suspiciously at his paint. "They need someone to protect the city. Who else are they going to leave, Jolt?" To be honest, Sideswipe rather liked Jolt but he was hoping Sunstreaker would get his point.

"They are going into the field of battle and leaving us behind," Sunstreaker declared, with all the dark drama his vocal processors were capable of dredging up.

The field of battle, right. Sunstreaker must've been watching those old war movies again. For someone who didn't like humans, he seemed to be endlessly entertained by their media. "They are going out to find what is probably one very hurt mech. Optimus talked to me about it, you know. Wanted to make sure I understood. They need us here, not standing around with our thumbs up our exhaust while Ratchet does his thing."

"Optimus talked to you, did he," Sunstreaker said coolly, not looking at his brother and Sideswipe vented a sigh, leaning in to wrap his arms around Sunstreaker, careful of his finish. He was, actually, trying to calm his brother down from solar flare_ back _to a little ray of sunshine. Or as close as Sunstreaker ever got and scratching that sparkling armor wouldn't help his cause.

Sunstreaker had been looking exceptionally well-polished lately. Much as he didn't like the planet, Sunstreaker was developing a very fond relationship with their cleaning supplies. Just thinking about the glossy shine of his twin's armor was enough to give him ideas, tiny throbs of want that Sideswipe didn't bother to try to hide. He let it swell, let the warmth of his desire thread tendrils through his twin bond as he pressed his mouth close to his brother's auditory sensor. "Like Optimus could talk to you? I suppose he could _talk _but we both know you'd never listen."

His gyroscope gave a hearty whirl as Sunstreaker suddenly grabbed him and shoved him up against the side of the building. They were the same height and his optics were set on Sideswipe's, regarding him with disconcerting seriousness.

"They'll be at least twenty minutes just getting through the gate," Sunstreaker said aloud. The anger in his vocalizer was gone, replaced with that peculiar graveness. It was matched by Sunstreaker's touch, one hand rising to Sideswipe's cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw with unusual, aching tenderness. It was the feeling in his spark that Sideswipe finally recognized; a throb of desire to match his own. Perfect.

Now that was a much better reaction. A horny Sunstreaker was much easier to deal with than a moody one. Sideswipe smirked at him, their optics still locked on the other. "I know. I was actually hoping for a little alone time…you know how it is when you need a little self-service."

"Oh?" Sunstreaker exhaled, his tone low and cool. His lip plates grazed Sideswipe's, another peculiarity that Sunstreaker had taken up lately. Kissing as a mech was strange and arousing, and usually led to other interesting things. "You think you can give better service than I can?"

"Maybe not," Sideswipe said, softly, letting his lips move against his twin's. "But sometimes I like to spend my time with someone a little prettier."

He knew the moment Sunstreaker processed what he said, felt it as Sunstreaker went utterly still, his optics narrowing to pinpricks of light. Oh, yes, that was _perfect_, nothing like a little emotional suicide before a battle. Sideswipe vented out a rush of hot air deliberately, letting the warm gust rush over his brother's armor, against his still-close face. A caress and a goad, all at once.

Just a little more, a little polish over his finish. "In fact, I think I still have some old vid files of Tracks tucked away somewhere…"

"You're dead," Sunstreaker said, almost apologetically, but the smirk curving his mouth was telling. "But I'll give you a head start," his smile twisted into something a little colder and Sunstreaker pressed their mouths together deliberately, sharing the hot, slick flavor of his own lubricants before he pulled back to whisper, harshly, "Since I love you_ so _much."

Sideswipe's spark gave a little lurch but he was already shoving his brother away and transforming, careening through the empty streets. Better hope they didn't take the whole twenty minutes to get through the gates because once Sunstreaker caught him, Sideswipe had a feeling they'd be able to hear him screaming from the highway.

* * *

From deep inside the Main Administration's building, Bumblebee watched the twins speeding through the city, fishtailing around corners as Sideswipe played a dangerous game of keep away with his psychotic brother.

Bumblebee wasn't the most experienced of mechs but even he could easily recognize a little Cybertronian foreplay and with a shiver that wasn't…quite…disgust, he switched the view to another part of the city. Watching Sideswipe bend Sunstreaker over was not high on his list of must-watch video feeds. Then again, Sunstreaker had been the one chasing and…ugh. He froze that line of thought and buried it in the back of his processors, back where he kept the memory of the feel of Sunstreaker's mouth against his own. At the rate he was going, he was going to end up with a hefty packet flagged with 'Do Not Replay' tucked into his data banks. Where Ratchet would probably find it during a routine checkup, there was something to look forward to.

He heard Sam before he saw him, the familiar footsteps mingling with the well-known and equally well-loved beating of his heart. Bumblebee didn't look up as Sam came in, peering warily around the corner before carefully making his way through the cables that were neatly coiled around the room. Engineering wasn't exactly the most human-friendly of places.

"You're supposed to be in your quarters," Bumblebee chided him, but he still reached down to give Sam enough of a boost that he could climb up and sit on Bumblebee's bent knee.

"I know," Sam said agreeably, curling up to rest his elbows on his bent knees. "My parents are there and so's Mikaela."

"And they allowed you to leave because-?"

"I told them the truth, I need a charge," Sam said but his cheeky grin was at odds with his eyes. His concern was visible, the slighter higher than normal beat of his heart spoke volumes more to Bumblebee than his words. He turned to look at the monitors, streets that were normally bustling with military vehicles and Autobots alike, even the occasional civilian vehicle of a visiting scientist, were empty.

Bumblebee raised his optic ridges in surprise, "Since when do you know your energy levels? I thought you couldn't read them unless you were actively falling on the floor. "

Sam shrugged. "It's subtle. I start feeling edgy, like I've had too much caffeine. I think I'm starting to get used to this, you know?"

"I didn't want you to have to get used to it." In all honesty, that was precisely the last thing Bumblebee wanted. He hadn't wanted Sam to have to deal with these issues to begin with and getting used to it meant he was dealing with it for far longer than Bee had hoped.

Sam's smile was a little weary, a little edged, and it made Bumblebee ache to see it, but mostly it was the same lopsided little grin he'd always had. "Sorry, big guy, until Ratchet comes up with some kind of cellular vacuum cleaner, I'm stuck." He shrugged again, then blinked, narrowing his eyes as a flash of red, followed by one of yellow, blurred past one of the monitors. Luckily for Bumblebee's memory processors, they vanished just as quickly and Sam only shook his head, glancing back at Bumblebee with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"How's it going out there?" Sam asked, softly. The concern in his eyes was deeper, creasing the corners with lines that Sam was far too young to already have.

"Nothing to report yet. They all went through the checkpoint about fifteen minutes ago and they'll be an hour at least getting to their destination." Their personal short-range communication systems only went for about a twenty mile radius, more or less depending on the mech, but plugging into the mainframe boosted Bumblebee's range exponentially. He was currently linked to both Prowl and Ratchet, listening to the radio chatter with distracted amusement. Aside from talking with Sam, his attention was split in several directions, monitoring the city and the outlying territories, keeping tabs on the mission coms, very, very distantly tracking Sunstreaker and Sideswipe considering that both had gone suspiciously still on his locator.

Preoccupied as he was, it was perhaps understandable that he didn't notice at first that Sam was squirming a little, shifting on Bumblebee's knee. His fingers were curled beneath a segment of armor, gripping tightly. "So...you gonna give me a charge or what?"

Startled, Bumblebee pulled his focus slightly inward and gave his lover a bemused look. It was a reasonable question; normally, Bumblebee would already have formed a holo and would probably have Sam half-naked by now. Just the idea of taking Sam while they were both right in his own lap was stimulating, to say the least. But until Sam had said something, it hadn't even occurred to Bumblebee to do so because most of his processors were involved in scanning. And here was Sam, needing a charge and Bumblebee, the provider of those same charges, was currently otherwise occupied.

That stumped him. Optimus had left him behind to monitor but also to be here for Sam and it hadn't occurred to either of them that Bumblebee couldn't do it simultaneously. Well, this was what happened when they didn't let Prowl make all the plans.

"I don't think I can," Bee admitted. "I can't unplug from the mainframe and I can't use my holographic projector while I'm plugged in."

"You?" Sam laughed. There was already a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, a visible sign of what was to come if Bumblebee didn't give him the charge his receptors needed. Well, this was horribly inconvenient timing! "The great multi-tasker is admitting that he can't do something?"

"You're going to be less amused soon if I can't help you," Bumblebee added a low curse in Cybertronian. "If I'd used half of the processing power I'd been sparked with, I would have thought of this and asked Sideswipe to run the monitors!"

"Can't he do it now?" Sam wet his lips, the faintest tremor running through him.

"I'd ask him but I believe he is otherwise occupied with something similar," Bee said, dryly.

Sam held up one hand with a little shudder that had nothing to do with his growing need, "I get it, please, you can stop right there. It's okay, we'll manage."

"Sam-"

"Nah, it's good, we're good. I have a handle on it."

He certainly had a handle on something and Bumblebee widened his optics, watching as Sam slid a hand into the loose waistband of his jeans. Sam closed his eyes with a sigh, biting his lower lip as his arm moved in a familiar, rhythmic motion and Bumblebee couldn't help but watch. Distantly, he kept monitoring with the highest processor power he could manage. In one instant he could test the city perimeters, hear Ratchet teasing Prowl, gloss over the heat signature of the twins doing something to each other and still, he could watch Sam. His Sam, jerking himself off as he lay sprawled over Bumblebee's knee.

"It's all right. I just...mmm..." Soft sound of pleasure as he clutched at the armor of Bumblebee's leg, no, rubbed against it, his touch bordering on desperate. Breathlessly, Sam asked, "Do you...do you mind...ohhhh...is this okay...?"

"Yes," Bumblebee agreed softly. Yes, it's okay, no, I don't mind. As if he could.

Never before had he gotten to see Sam so clearly. Not with his own optics and Bumblebee couldn't resist watching closely, recording every moment of it deep within his memory archives. A holo had better senses than the beings it was modeled after, true, but it was nothing like using his own. He could record every detail, every minute change in Sam's pheromones, every breathy little sound he made. Most were beneath the human audial range. A holo did not provide perfect senses, not nearly so well as he possessed in his true form and watching Sam touch himself, the lithe twist of his body, the flush of his skin as he gasped for breath, was the very definition of arousing.

Very, very carefully, ever aware of the delicacy of humans, Bee covered Sam with his hand. He slid a finger down Sam's chest, the finely tuned sensors registering his body temperature.

"Oooh," Sam moaned, arching up hard. He was panting, lips parted and damp, eyes closed tight. "I…I did this…with Sideswipe. Seemed to…ah! Seemed to work okay."

"I know," Bumblebee murmured. He couldn't suppress the confusing tumble of his emotions, a brilliant surge of mixed jealousy and arousal, part of him despising the very idea of Sam having to be with someone else. Another part of him couldn't help but wonder just how that would have looked. Sideswipe was undeniably pretty, as a mech or a holo, and just lately he'd been much closer than their friendship had ever allowed before. He remembered the _feel _of Sideswipe when they had linked together, medical necessity or not, and he had on some base level linked to Sam as well, given him a charge when he'd needed it.

It was a tantalizing, forbidden little fantasy, one Bumblebee doubted he'd ever admit to but the thought of seeing Sam spread out beneath Sideswipe, seeing him like_ this_. He'd never ask, never, didn't really _want _to see it, but as a mental image, knowing they'd done something just like this—

Sam came with a sharp cry, heels digging into Bee's thigh plate as he arched and the very organic presence of semen was abruptly detectable in the air. Very gently, Bee stroked Sam's small body, felt his trembling as he relaxed back, his breathing returning to normal.

The bulk of his processing power was still on monitoring, noting that the others were close to their destination and that the twins were back in motion on radar, having finished whatever they had been doing. It was just a little unfair, Bee decided with wry amusement, that everyone left on base seemed to be getting an orgasm but him. On the other hand, Mikaela probably wasn't and while it was possible Sam's parents were, he doubted it. Probably better not to mention that possibility to Sam, either, he seemed to be disproportionally horrified by the concept of his progenitors engaging in the same activity that had resulted in _him_. Humans could be strange about such matters.

Well, he could take care of his orgasm issues later; Sam actually had a legitimate medical need for them and Bumblebee took a second to run a quick scan over the boy, checking to see if this little exercise had actually helped. If not, Sideswipe was probably available now. It was a little disappointing to find that Sam's energy levels were just as they should be. Ah, well, he consoled himself, later would come and Sam was usually very happy to assist.

"All right?" Bee asked, softly. Physically, he knew Sam was fine; it was his emotional levels that Bumblebee worried about. Worries that Sam quickly alleviated.

"Yeah," Sam groaned. He had one arm flung across his eyes, the rest of his limbs dangling somewhat limply from his precarious position on Bumblebee's knee. "No offense, buddy, but you aren't exactly comfortable."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind when it's time for my next upgrade—" Bumblebee started, his vocalizer cutting off with a blare of static as alarms flashed abruptly through his city-wide monitors, shrieking the highest level of alert through him.

"What?" Sam started, confused, sitting up, but Bumblebee couldn't answer him, all his processors focused on what the sensors were showing him.

"Oh, dear Primus," Bee whispered. He jerked into motion, snatching Sam up as he roughly unplugged himself from the monitors and dashed from the room, already transforming as soon as they'd cleared the hallway.

"In!" he snarled, and Sam scrambled to obey, his tires squealing as he shot down the hallway before even closing the door. He sent a high priority code to the twins, ordering them to meet him outside.

The lamps that lined the streets were still blazing, enough light even for a human to see decently through the darkness. Twin plumes of dust were visible before the twins appeared, their heat signatures cutting through the cool night air, and their battle masks were already in place as they transformed. Bumblebee opened his door and Sam took the hint, climbing out and they all waited as Bee transformed as well.

"Whatcha got, Bee?" Sideswipe asked briskly. The hum of his battle routines running, the low thrum of his energy swords charging to readiness should have been energizing. Even from Sunstreaker, the focus in his optics razor-sharp as he waited silently for orders, should have eased Bumblebee's inner shock. Whatever he personally thought of Sunstreaker, he was an excellent soldier, and paired with his brother, the two were amongst the best warriors left in existence, an unstoppable force. Optimus couldn't have left better protectors for the city.

If only they'd had any idea that no one could have protected them from this.

"We just lost communications," Bee said curtly, "One second they were there and then static but we've got bigger problems right now. Before we were cut off, I saw this."

Without another word, Bee flung out a hand and formed a visual of what the scanners had showed him, outlined in light to be visible even to Sam through the darkness. There was nothing to be said.

"Primus-" Sideswipe whispered, his battlemask snapping back as he took it in.

Sunstreaker was expressionless. "Well, that's unfortunate."

"What?" Sam asked, loudly. The glowing outline of what was approaching would make little sense to a human who hadn't seen one before. "What's going on?"

It was Sunstreaker who finally answered him, all of them looking at the rough outline of the lumbering shape that was moving closer as each moment went by. "If Bumblebee's scans are correct, and, regrettably, I have no reason to believe they aren't, then we're all about to die."

* * *

Strange as it seemed, Sam was actually kind of getting used to facing death. It wasn't a habit he'd wanted to get into but it didn't look like he was about to break it anytime soon.

The first time, his system had dumped about a years worth of adrenaline into his system and Sam hadn't even been capable of panic, not that there had been time for it anyway with a psychotic police car hunting him down. The second time had been Mission City and as far as he was concerned, that one was best forgotten. After that, they'd kind of blurred together with the endorphin rush and standing here now with the feel of sweat beading on his face from the still-warm desert evening, the coppery-warm taste of adrenaline in back of his mouth, Sam dimly contemplated the fact that he wasn't really scared.

He was afraid, sure, but there was no sweeping rush of panic. He stood next to Bumblebee, all of them focused on the hologram in front of them, and waited to hear what they should do next. With a hum of hydraulics, Sideswipe crouched down, peering at the glowing outline in front of them.

"A combiner team?" Sideswipe said, disbelieving, "I didn't think there was one left in the universe, much less in our backyard!"

Sunstreaker studied the holographic projection closely, moving in a slow circle as he took it in. The tip of one of his swords was trailing in the dirt, leaving a charred mark and filling the air with the smell of scorching earth. Sam had to squint against the heat of it as Sunstreaker rolled past him, keeping very still just in case the yellow mech wasn't paying attention to little humans moving around. "Mm, yes. I hate to say it, but I believe Prowl's confidence in us might be misplaced this time."

"What's a combiner team?" Sam asked, hoping against hope that it wasn't what it sounded like because what it sounded like was them being fucked, big time.

"Big," Sideswipe said, succinctly, making every one of Sam's fears true with a single word. "Prowl couldn't have even suspected this, he wouldn't have left us here alone. What's the point anyway? Why the hell would they be attacking with this much force? There's no one here but us and there's nothing in the city _that_important."

"There's one thing," Sunstreaker said, his tone icy. "They're here for him."

"What?" Sam blurted, disbelieving, as Sunstreaker gestured at him with one glowing sword. "Because I killed Megatron?"

Sunstreaker swung around to look at him, his gaze venomous, "You cannot possibly be that much of a fool."

"Sunstreaker-" Bumblebee started, warningly.

"He stands there in possession of the last remnants of the Allspark and thinks all they want is revenge?" Sunstreaker hissed.

"But-it's just a few receptors!"

"It's a fragment of the giver of life, you little human idiot! Can you think of no one they might want to give life?"

He could. It was too horrible to contemplate, but he could. "Megatron," Sam whispered.

"They'd delight in gutting you to get back their leader," Sunstreaker said bluntly, ignoring Bee and Sideswipe's angry hisses.

"How could they know that?" Sideswipe snapped. "They haven't been able to hack our network and it's not exactly common knowledge!"

Sunstreaker stepped in close, lifting his sword to hover just beneath Sideswipe's chin with easy precision that didn't even blister paint. "How do you _think_, brother?"

Sam could almost see Sideswipe mulling it over, the connection he had with his twin crackling visibly in his optics as he realized. "Barricade," he snarled, turning away with a vicious curse. "When his receptors defended us in the jail cell, Barricade would have noticed it! Probably didn't realize at the time what was going on or he would have snagged the kid then but when he analyzed it later—"

"We can't let them," Sam said, cutting in sharply. He could ignore the fact that he was the one in possession of them. That didn't matter, not with the entire planet at risk. Right now they had to do whatever it took to keep his receptors away from the Decepticons.

Even if he had to die for it.

He knew that Bumblebee realized it, his form stiffening as he looked from the holographic image to Sideswipe, the three Autobots considering their options. "Sideswipe..."

"You need to get them out of here, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee was already shaking his head, his mask descending as his own battle protocols blazed online. "You two can't hold them off-"

"And that is precisely why you need to go," Sideswipe said sharply. "The shield array isn't prepared for this kind of onslaught. We'll hold them off and give you time to get out of here."

"They'll be expecting it." From Sunstreaker, almost lazy contemplation as he studied the hologram again. It cut off abruptly as Bumblebee curled his hand into a fist but Sam could still see the glowing lines behind his eyes, the image briefly burned into them.

"Of course they will but hopefully Bumblebee's cloaks will hold long enough for him to get out of range." Sideswipe paced a few steps away, one hand out in a gesture that Sam recognized as scanning. "I can't even get a read on it; they've got us closed in tight. We have no other options. We're cut off."

"What about the Air Force?" Sam asked, uncertainly. Not that he was any great military planner but he knew the military guys had been prepping for Decepticon encounters.

Sideswipe was already shaking his head. "If we're cut off then they certainly are. Even if we could send a request for assistance, by the time their jets arrived, it would be over."

"Then you should go with us!" Sam shouted, ignoring that Bumblebee was looking away, out into the night. Sunstreaker was next to him, the mellow gleam of their yellow armor strikingly similar in the dimness of night. Standing together, they looked more like brothers than the true twins and Sam had to blink and look away from it, instead focusing on Sideswipe still in front of him.

Sideswipe gave him a careless grin, optics bright. "Nah. I think Sunny and I will stay a while."

Bumblebee turned back and hesitated; Sam wasn't quite sure about the Autobot military hierarchy but he knew that Bumblebee outranked the twins. Bee could make it an order.

He didn't. He knew they were right. They all knew it.

Sideswipe's smile faded, his optics on Bee as he said, softly, "Bumblebee, you have a better chance of getting out and cloaking on your own. You're the spybot, we don't have anything even close to your protocols."

"We don't need them," Sunstreaker said with familiar cool arrogance.

Sideswipe ignored his twin. "Get them out of here."

The briefest of hesitation and Bumblebee nodded curtly and transformed, his door swinging open.

Sam had one hand on the door frame when he paused, craning his neck to look up at the twins. They were probably going to die and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could say and words were choking him, a dozen things wanting to be spoken at once.

A brief shimmer and Sideswipe's holo was in front of him, hands in his pockets as he looked at Sam uncertainly.

From above, Sunstreaker's voice seemed oddly serious, no sarcasm or bitterness as he said, softly, "Better give the little human a last kiss, Sideswipe, you probably won't be quite so pretty the next time we see him." They both looked up at him in surprise and Sunstreaker's smile was surprisingly soft. "I'd offer to do it for you but I think he might bite my tongue off."

Both of them hesitated, time that they didn't have wasted between them and Bumblebee was silent, not a hint of encouragement or denial from that quarter. With a shake of his head, Sideswipe stepped forward, the cooling desert wind blowing his brilliant hair out behind him and then his hands were on warm on Sam's face, holding him still as Sideswipe leaned in and kissed him. There was nothing hesitant in this, his mouth firm against Sam's as he pressed his tongue between Sam's lips. Sam couldn't move, could only cling to Sideswipe's shoulders and for an endless moment there was nothing but that sweet, harsh kiss.

Then Sideswipe was pulling away, shoving Sam into Bumblebee and closing the door firmly behind him. One last, long look and then his holo vanished in a glimmer, and then there was nothing but two mechs standing beside him, their optics cutting brilliantly through the night.

"Sideswipe," Sam whispered, pressed a hand against the cool glass of Bumblebee's window.

"Go, GO!" Sideswipe gestured impatiently, showing no sign that he'd heard Sam. "I know you can mask your heat signature but that won't do any good if they are close enough to see you. Get the other humans and get out!"

"But-"

"Go!" Sideswipe roared and Bumblebee did, his tires screaming as he tore off towards Sam's quarters. Numbly, Sam heard him making a call to his parents and Mikaela, telling them to meet the two of them outside and to hurry.

Distantly, he heard a sound, a heavy vibration that registered even through the sound of Bee's engine and Sam shuddered, burying his face in his hands as he tried not to think about just what the twins were facing.

* * *

Main ops was nowhere near the entrance to the city and since that was where Bumblebee had detected the breech, that was where the twins were headed. They walked slowly towards it, sensors straining to catch the first glimpse of a combiner team of the likes that hadn't been seen in millennia.

Sideswipe ran a quick diagnostic over his weapons, testing their readiness and found them at one hundred percent. Perfect. He knew without asking that his brother was doing the same. Autobots didn't have anything as organic as adrenaline but battle protocols were very close, the low thrum powering through his systems as he tipped up his battle mask far enough to give his brother a wicked grin. "Ready to try dying again for beings you despise?"

Sunstreaker answered his smile with one of his own and there was no bitterness in it, only affection, as he saluted Sideswipe with one sword. "No. But I'm always willing to die for you."

The dwindling sound of Bumblebee's engine faded, the silence brief before a low roar echoed over the hard packed earth that surrounded their city. The two of them stood and waited, together, listening to the growing roar of death approaching.

TBC**  
**


	47. Reckoning

Title: Reckoning  
Author: Keelywolfe  
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse

* * *

The first time Epps found out that the Autobots were building their own base was when he was called into a classified meeting with some of the most powerful men in the States. Just him, no enormous briefing, no pressure of his direct commanding officers or subordinates. Only him and the big guys, asking him if he was willing to take on the assignment of protecting not his country but his very planet from a hostile alien invasion. And that in doing so, he'd be working alongside a group of alien friendlies.

That's what they had asked him, like it was just a simple yes or no question. To Epps, it had been. He'd never even hesitated. Never backed out of a dangerous mission before and he wasn't about to now.

Didn't regret it one fucking bit, not even now as he sat in a jeep, speeding towards the two Autobots standing near the base's entrance. Every soldier still on base was right behind him, all of them on the move the second radio contact went down and if anyone knew what the fuck was going on, it'd be two mechs ahead of them.

Time training with the 'bots had taught Epps a few things and it wasn't hard to recognize a mech with his battle protocols running. Even a civilian would know to be wary when they saw a twenty-foot robot carrying around a couple of ten-foot glowing swords, never mind two of them.

If those two were running off battle protocols, though, Epps knew a couple extra details. One, their perceptions would be on a razor-thin trigger, everything shut down but combat code. Just a little, he could envy a species that could literally turn off their fear, but never mind that now. The other detail he knew was the one concerning him now. If they were prepped to go, then something was coming and it was moving fast.

The driver braked a cautious distance back. Epps barely waited for him to stop before he hopped out, shouting up to the yellow and red mechs towering over him. "We lost contact with the guard station. They're coming, aren't they."

The way the yellow one startled, he hadn't even noticed the humans coming towards him and it made a shiver of apprehension dance up Epps spine. What could they be focused on so intently that the humans didn't even register as a threat?

Big yellow gave him a look that pretty clearly wondered what the fuck was going on. He looked at Sideswipe and Epps knew pissed off when he heard it. "You didn't tell me there were still humans here!"

Sideswipe only grinned back, "I didn't think about it. I'm not used to organics fighting with us." He saluted Epps jauntily with one sword. "Good to see you, Epps. Lennox left you in charge? I thought you were in communications."

"Still am. So communicate with me, what we looking at here?" Lennox and his team were probably fighting their own battles right now, Epps knew, and there was fuck all he could do about that. His orders were to defend their base and its occupants and the soldiers behind him were prepping to do just that. Be easier to do if they had any idea of what they were facing with communications and radar down, and the only mechs around who would know right now were these two.

Sideswipe he knew, was a stand-up guy. Didn't mind getting his hands dirty and a couple times, he'd stopped by the rec center in his Holo and played a few rounds of Call of Duty on the setup the mechs had made for everyone.

He knew the yellow guy was something to him, like a brother. Twins in their own way. Ratchet had tried to explain it to him once but Epps had figured out a long time ago that the best way to handle Ratchet was nodding every once in a while and eventually he'd get tired of talking and kick you out.

Yellow guy, it was Sunsomething, Sunny, and Epps mentally dubbed him SunnyD.

To say that the look SunnyD gave them was dismissive would be an insult to the word, "You humans should get out of here while you have a chance."

Yeah, that was probably why he didn't know SunnyD that well. "Our orders are to stay and defend."

"Defend what?" SunnyD sneered, gesturing at the buildings around them. "This slagheap would probably be improved by destroying it." A thunderous sound rolled over them, mechs and humans alike falling silent as they looked towards it. There was nothing visible through the darkness, not to the humans anyway. It didn't stop Epps from knowing it was coming; he could feel it, the anticipation hanging in the air like the heaviness of coming rain.

"Not long now," Sideswipe murmured, his focus on the darkened horizon. He didn't even seem to notice the byplay between the solders and his companion. Battle protocols, Epps reminded himself. Razor-sharp focus.

"You and your men need to get out, now," SunnyD said. His pissed off seemed to have been replaced with urgency, battle mask snapping down into place.

Epps shook his head. "Sorry, man, I don't take orders from you."

That didn't seem to be the reply that SunnyD was looking for. "Get out of here, or I'll kill you myself."

Behind him, Epps felt his team move restlessly. Every one of them had a heavily modified M4A1 Carbine and a healthy selection of incendiary projectiles deemed safe enough for humans to use. Ironhide had assisted them in redesigning their weapons against Ratchet's vehement protests and Epps had been one of the few humans privy to that particular argument.

Didn't matter, they were all armed now with the very best weapons they could produce for killing the shit out of mechs, just like the one who was currently glowering at them and Epps hastily raised a hand, holding his team back. Didn't need any damned fighting with the good guys, even if this guy was a dick.

Epps propped his own rifle on his hip and looked up into glowing blue optics. "If we're all gonna die anyway, I'd rather do it fighting some fucking 'Cons."

SunnyD glared at him and then suddenly, he laughed, a wild, electric sound that made a cold shiver trail down Epps's spine. Fuck, this guy was as scary as most Decepticons. "Die here, then. And stay out of my way."

Adrenaline was already thumping through Epps as he turned back to his team. Good men, strong, impassive faces staring back at him as they waited for orders. "Hear that?" he shouted, "We're all gonna die today! We ready for it?"

"Yes, sir!" A shouted chorus of mingled voices and weapons being locked and loaded.

"Then let's do it right!" He turned back to SunnyD, "You tell us what to do and we're on it."

To his credit, the 'Bot didn't hesitant. "It's a combiner team. A group of five or more mechs connected to form a larger one."

"Don't that sound like fun," drawled Martinez, currently second in command. He had one of the 'bot's modified scanners that Ratchet had given him. The medic might have refused to help with weapons but he seemed all right about making tools. Doc walked a fine line, Epps figured, but it wasn't his problem to deal with. Didn't look like the scanner was helping very much anyway; whatever they'd used to take down communications and radar seemed to work on the Autobot's equipment, too.

"There's only one way to fight a combiner team. From a distance," Sunstreaker, curtly, his optics still on the horizon. Nothing was visible to the humans but his optics flickered, watching. Scanning, probably. "If you're close enough to hit them, you're already dead so you might as well do what you can. Target the joints and force them to separate, it's the only way to take them down."

Epps laughed and was pleased it didn't sound a bit hysterical, "All right, let's take down fucking Voltron!"

A brief, sharp chorus of. "Yes, sir!" behind him and rifles being hefted, all of them taking what cover they could as they waited. They were as ready as they could be, a small group of humans and two mechs.

SunnyD was literally vibrating, waiting, his twin swaying next to him. His optics never left the horizon and now Epps could really feel it. The rhythmic, thudding vibration of something fucking enormous taking steps, coming closer, like a fucking outtake of Jurassic Park. Seemed like it was taking fucking forever.

The 'bots seemed to think so, too, both of them were moving as restlessly as any of the humans. Autobot expressions were sometimes disturbingly human and Epps recognized that look. He'd done three tours in the Middle East with his team, yeah, he'd seen that look plenty. Couple of times in his own mirror. SunnyD was eager to get this on, and he was probably running a few sparkplugs short right now.

And why the fuck wouldn't he be. Three tours didn't seem like shit when you stacked it against what the 'Bots had been going through for a few thousand years.

This was his team now and when your team was charged with saving the world, you didn't ask any fucking questions. You stepped up and you took care of business.

* * *

Until this moment, Sam had never realized how much the Autobots modified themselves so they would be able to disguise themselves as human vehicles. Bumblebee had kick-ass specs, no questioning that, but to anyone giving him a cursory look, he was just a Camaro. One with a few specialized upgrades, but still. Just a car.

Riding in him now, crammed in the backseat with Mikaela as his parents took the dubious comfort of the front seats, there was no denying that Bumblebee wasn't 'just' anything.

They were all strapped in tight with seatbelts of the like Sam had never even imagined. Understandable, though. He had no idea how fast they were going but it was _damned _fast, he could feel it. Outside the windows, away from the city, it was pitch-black, and there was another bit of strangeness. They'd left the roads a while back and a Camaro wasn't exactly designed for off-roading. It didn't feel like they were riding on anything less than the smoothest blacktop though, and the low hum of Bumblebee's engine was barely audible. All the interior lights were off, the tiniest of indicators gone and the darkness was oppressive, pushing in on them.

Mikaela shifted a little, leaning against him and Sam automatically wrapped an arm around her. None of the humans said a word; even his mom was quiet although Bumblebee hadn't asked for silence. It felt like they were all holding their breath, waiting to see if they'd gotten away clean.

It was Bumblebee who finally broke the silence, his voice low through the radio speakers. Sam's mom muffled a short cry of surprise as Bumblebee said, quietly. "Listen to me carefully, all of you."

Sam nodded, knowing from long experience that Bee could see him. He heard his parents shifting, wondered what they were doing. If his mom was clutching Dad about how like Mikaela was clutching him.

Bumblebee continued, softly, "When I stop, I want all of you to get out. Go left, do you understand? There's an outcropping of rock there, it'll give you some protection. To your left, towards the driver's side. Do you understand?"

Silence, and Bee repeated it, patiently, "Tell me if you understand."

A soft murmur of agreement from around the interior.

"Good. Get ready now."

They slowed so abruptly that Sam's stomach lurched. He bit back the nausea, moving the second the seatbelts whipped back and the doors flung open. The four of them scrambled free and he heard Bee transform, felt the whisk of air as he moved and they'd barely stumbled to the rocky overhand when he heard the scream of metal against metal.

"Oh god," Mikaela whimpered and Sam would have been happy to cry with her, fumbling to touch them all, confirming with his hands what he couldn't see. They'd all made it clear, they were all here.

"Are you both all right?" Dad shouted over the almost unbearably loud sound of mechanized battle. He shoved them harder against the rock, Mikaela and Sam and his mom all crammed tight together. Covering them all with his own body, Sam realized, tears pricking his eyes.

A sudden wash of painful heat over them made answering impossible. One of them had used a plasma cannon, no telling who. There was no way to even know who, or what, Bumblebee was fighting. The darkness was as much their enemy as the damned Decepticons right now and Sam made a distant, fervent wish that he had a set of those night vision goggles the army guys used. When they got out of this, he was getting a set and to hell with any regulation. When they got out of this and they were going to. They were.

Abruptly, the night fell silent again, only an unfamiliar gurgling sound that was slowly ebbing. Sam pushed hard on his dad's shoulder, trying to move him enough to see and after a moment, he did, let Sam look out and see a sparking, mangled wreck barely twenty feet away. Whatever it was, its coloring was dark, not yellow, and relief made Sam sag a little, his knees weakening.

Heavy footsteps and Sam struggled free of their human knot, barely hearing his mom's hissed protest as he scrambled forward. He knew who it was, he could feel it…

"Are you all right?" Bumblebee asked, softly, smooth metal stroked Sam's cheek. A large finger, he realized, leaning into the gentle touch.

"I think so. I think we're all okay," Sam glanced back, stupidly realizing he couldn't see anyone. He hadn't felt anything wet or bleeding when they'd been crammed together though.

A human hand touched his shoulder, Mikaela, and she murmured, "Bee, you're hurt."

He was, Sam realized, drawing in a sharp breath. The sparking was barely visible but squinting he could see one of Bee's arm's was damaged. Nowhere near the damage he had sustained at Mission City but Sam's heart still twisted to see it.

"I know. I can't transform but we certainly can't stay here. We'll have to see what we can do about it later. All of you, come on." Bumblebee held out his good hand and Sam didn't even hesitate, scrambled into his palm, Mikaela right behind him. His parents took a little longer, crawling awkwardly up and if a Camaro was a tight fit for four humans, the hand of a twenty-foot robot wasn't much of an improvement.

Once they were all situated, large metal fingers curving carefully around them in a sort of protective cage, Bee started moving again in a loping run. It was a much louder way to travel but Sam didn't think they had much room to complain.

His dad was jostling against him uncomfortably, shifting in to say to Sam, loudly, "Don't worry, Bee will be all right. He's a tough kid."

Sam only nodded, leaning against his dad. All in all, he thought his parents were handling their first near-death experience pretty well. He could only hope it would stay near-death, for all of them.

* * *

Sweat was stinging in Epps's eyes and he swiped it away impatiently, trying to see through the smoke and darkness enough to find something to fucking shoot.

Most of the lights had shattered under the first energy blast, throwing them all back before they'd even seen it and even now, sweating and screaming orders, Epps hadn't gotten a clear view of it.

He didn't think he wanted one. If they survived this, just what he had seen would probably haunt his fucking nightmares. Epps knew the mechs came big. He'd seen Megatron, before he'd become a twisted, hulking wreck. But this thing…even through the smoke and dust, through the special night vision goggles Ratchet had helped them design – what little he'd seen was like something that had crawled out of the deepest pits of Hell.

Weapon fire and screams were all drowned out in its deafening roar and a rain of debris and glass fell over them. Another building destroyed and Epps just counted them lucky the big stuff had fallen the other way.

It was like his worst, twisted nightmare of that first attack in Qatar and they were probably as effective now as they'd been then. Pumping endless rounds into a monstrosity that they could barely see. Uselessly. SunnyD was right, they were all going to die

His goggles didn't allow for color, a blur flashing in front of him, and Epps recognized the outline of one of the twins sweeping past him, his energy sword a blinding flare of light. Epps flinched away, eyes watering, and looked back just in time to see the Autobot twin going in suicidally close, his weapons glowing hot.

His twin moved in unison with him, unspoken, almost more of a dance than battle tactics. It took Epps a moment to see it but once he did, he understood. Go for the joints and one of the 'bots was giving his brother some much needed leverage to launch himself into the air, his sword pathetically small against that horror but it still cut through the knee joint like going through hot butter.

That thing howled, a horrifying scream of agony as one leg collapsing beneath it but it had three others, it was still moving, fuck, fuck.

"Target the other leg," Epps screamed, his voice raw from shouting and smoke. It was their only chance, SunnyD had said, target the joints. "Get it down, get it _down_!"

Whether his men had heard him or they just got the idea when Epps did, he didn't know, but every human still standing poured on the heat. Their ammo had been modified alongside their weapons, and the monstrosity shrieked its horrific scream again, the most horrible sound Epps had ever heard was still music to his ears. They were actually taking it down, Epps thought, giddly with adrenaline and battle lust. They were doing it.

A voice cried out, he didn't know who, "Look out!" Too late, Epps's vision whited out and then the ground was hard against his back. Pain was distant, the world going gray around him and Epps could only grope feebly for his weapon as he waited to die.

* * *

The pain was a hell of a lot more immediate the next time he woke up. He was moving, Epps realized dimly, moving fast, and the sudden stop made him grunt in pain, turning to a howl when he was deposited roughly on the ground.

"Here, get in here," a rough voice, SunnyD, Epps thought vaguely.

"Where—" he tried, coughed, and tasted blood.

"Witwicky's quarters," he said shortly. "I don't have access to the inner sanctum but you can get in the front hallway. It's safer there."

"Safer," Epps mumbled. No place was gonna be safe.

"You're leaking fluids," Sunstreaker's vocalizer sounded raspy and Epps wondered if the smoke hurt them, too.

"I noticed," Epps slurred out. Not much he could do about it. His leg was alarmingly numb, the lack of pain disturbing. Epps cried out as he was jostled and only realized SunnyD had nimbly plucked off his belt when he felt it tighten around his thigh in a makeshift tourniquet. Movement again, and Epps was sitting in on the landing of a short flight of stairs, SunnyD leaning what little he could in through the door.

"Stay here," SunnyD repeated. "this building is the most reinforced in the City."

"You're hurt," Epps said blearily, only just seeing the damage on the larger mech.

"I noticed." Fluid dripped from his mangled arm, oily dark with a glowing tinge of pink mixed in, pattering down on the ground. A few droplets stained the front of Epps's t-shirt and he wondered absently if Autobot blood was poisonous to humans. The smell made him think of juicy fruit gum. "I need a moment for the lines to seal themselves or my hydraulics will fail."

The sounds from outside were muffled by the concrete walls but Epps could feel the ground shake beneath them. He rested his cheek against the cool concrete and just tried to keep breathing, only opened his eyes when SunnyD spoke again.

"You're probably going to die," SunnyD said dispassionately. One of his optics was cracked, Epps saw, but it still glowed so maybe he could still see? Maybe it was like looking through broken glasses. Dimly, Epps thought to worry it might mess up big yellow's perceptions.

Oh, yeah. Going to die. Right. "Think so? Yeah, probably. You, too."

"I should think so."

"You guys all talk like you have a dictionary crammed up your ass, you know that?"

"I don't have an ass, but since we're both fucking well about to die, I guess I could try harder for you."

"Better."

SunnyD moved suddenly, his mangled arm rising again and his sword unsheathing in a brilliant flare of light. "There."

"Go get 'em," Epps whispered. Black spots were starting to waver in front of his eyes and just before he closed them and sank into the painless oblivion of unconsciousness, he heard SunnyD, his voice icy and resolute.

"Oh, I will."

* * *

They weren't going to make it back in time.

Even as he increased his speed, all of them traveling at a pace that no human vehicle could hope to achieve, Optimus knew it. Long, long years of war had taught him many lessons; battle was short and brutal amongst their kind, over in bare minutes with nothing left to do but retrieve the dead. It wasn't this that drove him to push for ever increasing speeds. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his spark.

Around him, his comrades were silent, engines straining as they surged past their human comrades. Already, they could detect the acrid tang of burning concrete and metals. An attack had been expected and they had left their best soldiers there in expectation. Their best soldiers and also their youngest, Jolt was the only one with them of a comparable age.

It was easy to remember that with Bumblebee. For all his strength and dependability, Bumblebee's inner sweetness kept him young in their view. They tended to forget with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Both of them aged from being on the frontlines of a war that had raged for most of their lives. Sunstreaker in particular made it easy to forget how very young he was.

Lennox made brief contact with him, _::I can't raise anyone, Optimus, on any line. If they don't get contact in ten, they'll send out the Air Force anyway but—::_

_::But it may well be over by then:: _Optimus replied.

_::That, and they aren't gonna know what to shoot at:: _Lennox said, reluctantly. Meaning his troops might well be killed by the very humans they strove to protect.

_::Understood:: _Optimus said and cut the line. Grimly, he pushed even faster, his engine taking on a high whine that would surely earn him Ratchet's wrath later. But that was for another time. For now, he and the others drove as fast as they could, and their only comfort was a quick ping from Ratchet letting them know Blaster was stable and he was on his way.

_::Keep back until we give you the all clear::_ Optimus sent, ignoring the colorful burst of swearing that followed. _::The humans may not be able to identify us from the Decepticons.::_

_::So I'm supposed to keep back while my patients bleed out:: _Ratchet said scathingly.

_::Do not defy me on this. I am ordering you to keep back:: _Sharply. He did trust Ratchet to obey orders, but with injured mechs involved…

_::Yes, sir:: _There was no room through his battle protocols for a reaction to Ratchet's furious resentment and Optimus shuffled it aside to be dealt with later even as he sent a broad connection to them all to link to Prowl for battle tactics.

The stink of battle was stronger, still too far away to see anything, Optimus could detect burning, thick blackness of smoke, and spilled energon. His tires hummed on the asphalt, as fast as he could possibly travel on this planet and it was not going to be fast enough. The battle would be decided, one way or another, before they could ever join it. Optimus could feel it.

TBC**  
**


	48. Medical Intervention

Title: Medical Intervention  
Author: Keelywolfe  
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse  
Rating: R  
Series: Human series  
Summary: Chapter 48 of the Human Series.

Notes: I am not big on warnings, folks, but everyone who is reading surely knows that this is the aftermath of a battle. Just a heads up.

* * *

It was a sight Ratchet had seen before, far too many times. He was an old mech, old enough to remember another Cybertron, one gloriously untouched by corruption and the horrors of war. Few in their ranks could claim that any longer and in very rare moments, Ratchet allowed himself a brief moment of grief for all they had lost.

Now, standing here on the outskirts and staring at the wreckage of their most recent home, was not one of those times.

Next to him, Lennox and his team waited in their vehicles for a signal from Optimus and the others. He could feel Lennox watching him warily, spared a moment to glare at the human. Despite what the others might think, Ratchet was capable of following orders. Stay out of the city until it was clear, Optimus had told him, never mind that his patients were likely dying, hemorrhaging out blood and energon while their medic stood here in safety, letting them die.

Even from here, Ratchet could detect that the fires were already burning out, their desert surroundings a blessing for once as there was little organic matter to burn and their buildings were mostly metal and concrete. Some pyrotechnical chemicals had been used but Ratchet couldn't identify it from this distance. Whatever had happened had been quick and vicious, his night visuals brutally acute, showing him the ruin of all they'd built this past year.

"Communications are back up," Lennox said aloud, low, and Ratchet gave him a distracted nod. Not his problem; communications issues were for tacticians and leaders, all Ratchet wanted was to be on his knees, gathering the wounded to him, helping them. Saving them. Every life he kept from extinguishing, human or Cybertronian, was a victory, his own war waged on a very deep, personal level. And every second he stood here in impotence was a second closer to death for those waiting for him.

He shifted on his feet impatiently and it was only his fear of distracting Optimus from the task at hand that kept him from howling defiance to their leader over the com links. Waiting, Primus, enough, waiting-

_::Optimus, PLEASE!:: _Ratchet hadn't even meant to send it, hadn't meant to pour his desperation into it, but he had, for just one second he pushed every ounce of his frustrated anguish at their leader. He didn't have time to close down before he felt the soothing response, a single word.

_::Clear.::_

Ratchet had transformed before Optimus even finished, tearing through the ragged roads towards the city. He barely acknowledged the destruction, his sensors intent on the flickering life signals ahead of him. Cities could and were rebuilt; long years of war had taught him that. But lives could not be recovered and a few of those humans had vitals that were terrifyingly weak.

Jolt and Arcee's blue unit were there already, moving through the wreckage in search of the injured. Not far away, Ratchet saw a few blanket-covered bodies and did not spare them his attention. Later, he could grieve but now his processors had to focus on those who could be saved. Like the human that Arcee was carefully lowering to the ground, his limp form tiny and vulnerable in her hand.

"Move," Ratchet said rudely, and Arcee leapt nimbly out of his way. The human was unconscious, blackened with grime and ash, and Ratchet quickly scanned him. Shock, blood loss, a few fractures. Quickly, he injected him with a sedative that had never graced the FDA's list of approved human medications, watched with satisfaction as his vitals stabilized.

As tiny as the humans were, Ratchet found them easy enough to treat. His hands were as large as their bodies but his tools were nimble and in little time he had them stable. There would be time yet for healing; for now he just wanted them safely alive. Their moans of pain easing into peaceful rest calmed him, Ratchet nodding absently when one of them weakly thanked him as he settled him comfortably.

"You'll be all right," Ratchet told him softly, a human he didn't recognize smiling tiredly up at him. It had been one of his own kind who had done this and none of the humans had looked up at him with fear, even without using a holoform. Adaptable and strong, these humans.

"Ratchet!"

Automatically, Ratchet turned towards the sound of his name combined with the racket of a large mech moving fast. His hands moving with confidence as he finished wrapped his last wounded human in a stasis blanket and Ironhide was running through the rubble, his hands cradled in front of him.

"It's Sergeant Epps and he's hurt pretty damned bad," Ironhide said bluntly, handing him over. "Found him in the front stairwell of Sam's quarters."

"He's alive, 'hide," Ratchet said, briskly, and when the other mech only stood there silently, he glanced up and saw Ironhide was staring at the blood on his own hands. Epps's blood. "I'll take care of him."

Ironhide was fond of all the human soldiers and Ratchet knew Epps was a good friend to Lennox as well. The large mech only nodded, dropping his hands to his sides. "Infirmary is still standing, Ratch. Tell us when and we'll start transporting them."

Of all buildings to remain unscathed, Ratchet thought with sour humor. Perhaps Primus hadn't forgotten them entirely. "Then get moving. The soldiers over there are stable. Take them to the human side and get them beneath a monitor. All you have to do is turn it on, it can do the rest. Got it?"

Ironhide nodded sharply, already moving and Jolt followed, both of them gently cradling a wounded human in one hand as they made their way through the wreckage to the infirmary.

Much as he wanted Epps there was well, Ratchet didn't dare move him until he knew what he was dealing with; humans weren't like mechs and Ironhide's well-meaning rescue might have only caused more damage.

Visibly, the worst damage seemed to be Epps's leg. It was mangled from the knee down, the whiteness of bone visible beneath a leather belt tightened around his upper thigh as a makeshift tourniquet. What lay beneath the surface could be even worse and Ratchet was just finishing his preliminary scans when Epps stirred, his dark eyes flickering open.

"Ratchet?" Epps slurred out. There was a dried blood on his lips, perhaps from an external injury. Ratchet was relieved to see no serious internal injuries, no broken ribs.

"Who else?" Ratchet said, dourly. Very carefully, aware of the human's level of pain, Ratchet began wrapping a field bandage around his leg as he repeated this evening's mantra. "You're going to be all right."

"Oh, so you're in the know now, Doc," Epps coughed out, laughing through the pain.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Gonna lose the leg," Epps mumbled, his eyes closing as he breathed against the pain. A strong man, Ratchet knew, and he promised himself he would prove the human wrong.

"And when did you graduate from medical school?" Ratchet asked tartly as he sealed the bandage. "I'll decide that, if you please. I don't like losing any of my patients or their parts so you'd better keep that in mind."

"Yes, sir," Epps said weakly, his hand rising in a feeble salute.

Ratchet grunted. "This is going to hurt for a second and then it will feel numb, all right?"

"Yeah, I got it."

With a single command, Ratchet activated the stasis bandage. Epps inhaled sharply through his clenched teeth and Ratchet held him still through it. Yes, it hurt for a second while the nanites activated but they would keep him stable, prevent infection, and promote healing in the area until Ratchet was able to give him proper treatment.

Repair nanites weren't difficult to reprogram but they were hard to replicate, particularly ones for an organic species. Ratchet had a few 'farms' of them fermenting in the infirmary that Sam had helped him care for. The human had been fascinated by the process, called them little robotic sea monkeys. Thinking of the little human made Ratchet wince and grimly, he pushed the emotion aside. None of the radio chatter indicated that they had found any of the civilians or the mechs that had been here, alive or otherwise.

Beneath his hands, the indicator lights on the stasis bandage flashed green. "All right, that should hold you for a while. Still with me?"

"Yeah," Epps whispered, a greyish tinge to his face. His eyes were glazing over, the nanites obediently suppressing his pain receptors just as they would with a mech. "That yellow one, the big one, he saved me."

"Sunstreaker?"

"Sunny, yeah," Epps smiled a little. "SunnyD."

"When did Sunstreaker sign up to become our anti-hero?" Ratchet muttered. Arcee hadn't left his side yet and Ratchet suspected Optimus had assigned her to watch his back. A bodyguard, how kind. "Any sign of the Twins or Bee yet?"

She shook her head. "Three dead Decepticons so far. Ratchet, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it, but I swear this looks like a combiner team."

"With this amount of damage, I'm believing it."

"How's Blaster?"

"Stable," Ratchet snorted. "He's better than we are right now. The humans are transporting him back."

"Shoulda seen 'em," Epps piped up, startling Ratchet. Stubborn human should be asleep by now. "Damn, they were all over that thing. That was some bad ass right there."

"They're something all right," Ratchet agreed, trying not to hope that they still were. Hope was a luxury he'd long since abandoned. Better to deal with things as they came then make wishes that weren't granted.

"Did they get it?" Epps asked suddenly, rising up on his elbows and looking around as though expecting the combiner to tumble out of thin air on top of them. "Did they take it down?"

Gently, Ratchet pushed him back down with one large finger. "Looks like most of it."

"Where are they?" Epps asked, eyebrows drawing in, as though he'd just noticed they weren't with the other wounded.

Ratchet didn't say anything. He had another syringe, laughably small in his large hands but Ratchet was nimble, optics narrowing as he looked for a likely injection site. The little human was bruised and filthy, not exactly a great specimen for him to practice his needlework.

"Don't you put out my lights now," Epps scowled up at him. "Where are they?"

"We haven't found them yet," Ratchet said evenly. "There's a lot of wreckage, they could just be buried."

"Or dead." Epps closed his eyes. "Captured, maybe."

"Maybe," Ratchet agreed softly. His name, again, a familiar sound to be shouted in battle and he looked up to see Jolt was calling for him this time.

"Ratchet!" Jolt shouted, venting loudly as he skidded to a stop next to them. "I found the twins, you better come look."

Ratchet was on his feet in an instant, Epps in his hands. "Where?"

A spat of coordinates was sent directly to him and Jolt said nothing more, his optics wide and pale as he held his hands out for Epps.

"Take him to the infirmary," Ratchet said, already turning away before Jolt could nod silently. He trotted through the shattered remains of their city, Arcee at his heels, and braced himself for what he would find.

* * *

"This is a little different than Auto 101, Bee," Mikaela gasped, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Deep in the back of the cave Bee had carried them into was dark and oddly damp, but it sure as hell felt safer than out in the open, waiting for another Decepticon to find them.

Bee had stopped reluctantly, explaining to them all softly that it would be better to try and do a few repairs so that he could transform again. Dangerous as it was to stop, he calculated it was better than continuing to travel on foot. Mikaela had immediately volunteered to help and for that Sam was grateful. He'd lost track of what they were doing back at the words transformative differential splines and precision gear tolerances.

Spread out by Mikaela's feet was a field kit of tools. She was using a welder, after she'd stopped gaping when it transformed down to a size she could handle. Bumblebee had managed a chuffing laugh at her amazement, "Tools work better when they are one size fits all."

"Guess so," she grunted, ducking back into the gaping wound in Bee's arm. Sam watched from above, moving the flashlight as Mikaela directed. According to Bee there was something wrong with his…er…something. Gears. Something.

Really, it was kind of embarrassing. Sam took comfort in the fact that he would know just as much about performing heart surgery.

"You've almost got it," Bee murmured. His voice mod was tight and Sam wondered abruptly if they were hurting him. Sure, Ratchet usually turned off pain processors when he worked but that didn't mean Bumblebee could. Or would. Gritting his teeth, Sam didn't ask, let Bumblebee do what needed to be done. "Once I get functionality back in my arm, I'll be able to transform again. You're doing just fine."

"Just the coolant lines, now," Mikaela panted, swiping at her forehead again.

"No," Bee disagreed. He visibly relaxed as Mikaela turned off the welder and Sam had to bite his tongue. Bumblebee had been a soldier for years; he knew what he was doing. "The coolant lines have already sealed themselves and my autorepair can take care of any minor issues. But I have a severed motor cable and we'll need to repair that so that I can move my arm."

"Got it," Mikaela's slim fingers probed deeper, tangled through wires that were nonsense to Sam's eyes except in that they were a part of Bee. She made a frustrated sound. "I can't see it!"

"Can I help?" Sam asked, leaning in closer.

"Yeah, hold this back for me, Sam," she said, indicating a few bundles of wire.

He did, wincing a little as slippery fluid slicked his fingers and he tried not to think of it as blood. The second he tightened his grip around the cables, blue flickering from his fingertips like static shock and Bee made a surprised sound, all three of them watching as bluish light flickered over the cables, wiggling through the wires and vanishing. A moment of silence, two, and then Bee's arm whirred and lifted, his fingers flexing.

Sitting further away at the back of the cave, his mother drowsing in his father's arms, his parents didn't notice their sudden stillness, Mikaela's eyes wide and shocked in the yellow light of the flashlight.

"Don't say anything," Bumblebee warned softly. "We'll discuss it later. For now, we need to get going." But Sam couldn't help but notice he looked unnerved. He swallowed, hard, against the lump in his throat Bumblebee had been his rock throughout all of this, unwavering in his support and if he was disturbed…

He transformed without another word, doors flying open, "Let's get going before anyone else manages to hack through my cloak."

Wearily, they all clambered inside, four humans too tired to do anything but collapse on the seats as Bee drove silently on. Mikaela curled into his arms just as she'd done earlier in the night and Sam tightened his arms around her gratefully, buried his face into her hair and listened to the barely-there hum of Bee's engine as they cut through the darkness.

* * *

The coordinates Jolt had sent him were close, through the wreckage that had once been the quarters for the Autobot officers. He knew the buildings only by their location, most of them little more than crumpled steel and beams. One wall was still standing, from Optimus's quarters, Ratchet saw, as it was taller than most. On the other side, he caught the echo of a spark signature, probably what had drawn Jolt.

If they were wounded and Ratchet was certain they were, time was of the essence but he was still cautious, Arcee at his heels as he peered around the corner, taking in the surrounding area. Even if they had been attacked by a combiner team that didn't mean there couldn't be other, smaller Decepticons lingering. True, it was doubtful; any Decepticons still alive after their big hitter had fallen would have been smart to flee but the words smart and Decepticon weren't exactly on good terms and Ratchet would have been dead a thousand years ago if he'd trusted Decepticons to have sense.

A combiner team. The twins had taken down a combiner team, with the help of a tiny group of humans. It was more than Ratchet allowed himself to consider right now. The injuries such a battle might have caused were his responsibilities and only that.

Around the corner, the only visible mech was one Ratchet didn't recognize and instinctively, his battle routines hummed online. Beneath the scuffs and damage, the armor was silver, only since Jazz had passed there weren't any silver Autobots in their ranks. What he saw next made him stand down, suppressing the thick sorrow that threatened to fill his processors.

Even from this distance, even with the damage, Ratchet knew who was in the silver mech's lap.

Barely recognizable, his wounds were so severe they were no longer even dripping energon. Most of his armor had been torn away and the silver mech held his brother close, humming soft, nonsense sounds as his large, black hands gently stroked the scorched and twisted frame.

Very cautiously, Ratchet came closer. Battle routines or not, Ratchet was always on mental high alert when he was around wounded mechs. One of the main reasons medics were so well built was the damage an injured patient could inflict before the medic could stop them. A mech in pain was not in control and couldn't be blamed for his actions but that hardly helped a medic who'd had his arm torn off by a delirious frontliner.

The other mech never looked up, holding his brother as gently as one would a sparkling, ceaselessly stroking the very few undamaged plates of armor that remained. Ratchet vented a weary sigh. Chances were they were about to lose two of their best warriors. A spark twin didn't have to die without their other half but there were those who refused to live. Despite their issues, Ratchet couldn't imagine one without the other.

"Sideswipe?" Ratchet asked, gently. There was no response and Ratchet laid a wary hand on the battered shoulder beneath him, silently running scans. Despite his injuries, Sideswipe didn't seem to be in any danger of offlining immediately. Not from his wounds, anyway, Ratchet amended, and he send a quick report to all the officers, closed off any tremors of shock or sorrow that might have leaked through the com link. He needed complete focus to deal with this.

"Sideswipe," Ratchet repeated, softly. For a long moment, Sideswipe didn't seem to notice him. His hands went still and he looked up slowly, blue optics focusing on Ratchet. It was the smile that spread over his face plates that made a tremor go through Ratchet's neural network. Cool, sardonic…everything that Sideswipe wasn't.

His voice was indistinctive, blurred. "Mostly."

It was only millennia of medical training that kept Ratchet from stumbling back in his shock. Instead, he stayed where he was, his hand firm on Side…on his shoulder. "What happened?" Ratchet asked, tightly.

Those black hands stirred into motion again, stroking over dents and tears, brutal damage a testament of a battle Ratchet hadn't seen. "He was dying. I couldn't…I couldn't let him go."

"You melded your sparks," Ratchet breathed, shuttering his optics. "Oh, child."

Sideswipe ignored that, oddly serene. "I had to. He would have died."

Behind him, Ratchet heard Arcee vent sharply. He sent her a quick, encrypted message. _:: Go get Ironhide, I may need a little muscle.:: _He waited until she was gone before saying to Sideswipe, aloud, "I want you in the infirmary."

"I'm fine, Ratchet." Never mind that energon was dripping from a dozen wounds. Never mind that he would need days if not weeks to recover. Never mind that he had literally done the unthinkable.

Ratchet ignored all that and fell back on what he did best. Sharply, he said, "Did that sound like a request? I want you in the infirmary, now."

"All right." No argument. Sideswipe started to get up only to collapsed back down with a low whimper, wounds that had been little more than a trickle suddenly spurting energon, spattering them both.

"Shit!" Ratchet snarled, still caught in his English vocals. "Hold still, hold still!" He patched them quickly, only the faintest tremor in his hands betraying him. Sideswipe never flinched, the light in his optics dim and lost. It was disturbing on too many levels, nothing of Sideswipe's warm charm or Sunstreaker's snark visible, only this lost, wounded spark.

"It'll be all right, scraplet," Ratchet said, softly, only absently noticing the endearment. A memory surfaced, of the day the Twins had been sparked and Ratchet had to forcibly lock it back. Now was not the time. There was a question that none of Optimus's team had found an answer and only this mech might know. "Where is Bumblebee? Where are Sam and Mikaela?"

That got a response, feeble though it was. Sideswipe blinked, his optics spiraling wider, brighter, before he replied, little blankly. "They left."

"Did the Decepticons follow them?" Ratchet asked, silently urging him to keep talking. _Stay with me, little spark, stay with me._

"I don't…I don't know," Another slow blink. "I'm tired."

"I know." Ratchet clamped the last line and scanned him. Nowhere near as stable as Ratchet would have liked, he wanted a monitor on this mech in five minutes or they would be able to hear him screaming in Mexico. "All right, let's try that again."

Ratchet hooked an arm underneath Sideswipe's and pulled him to his feet. The sudden movement tumbled Sunstreaker's shell from his lap with an irrevocably empty clang.

"Wait, I can't leave him." It was a cosmic joke to Ratchet that now Sideswipe found some animation, struggling against Ratchet's grip as he reached for his brother.

"It's all right," Ratchet tried, his voice drowned out by the sudden hoarse scream of protest, Sideswipe tearing free of his grip and wounds that he'd just sealed breaking open, spilling energon that Sideswipe could little afford to lose as he scrabbled clumsily to pull Sunstreaker's damaged form back into his arms.

"I can't…I can't…" Choked static and Sideswipe fell into guttural keening, words lost as he clung to the wreckage of his brother's shell.

"You aren't…he's not in there anymore, remember? You're both right here," Ratchet tried, uselessly. Sharp reflexes served him well as he just managed to duck when Sideswipe suddenly lashed out, his fist whistling through the air over Ratchet's head with unexpected strength. Before he could try again a strong hand caught his, holding him still, not Ironhide but Optimus and Ratchet plugged in quickly, Sideswipe collapsing into medical stasis.

Without a word, Optimus lifted the smaller mech into his arms, holding his still form close. Ratchet vented a sigh and groaned as he rose up to his feet. Sideswipe trying to take his head off was a perfect ending to a perfect day.

"Can you help them?" Optimus asked, softly, gazing down at the silent, deeply wounded mech. Oh, so wounded, Ratchet thought, aching in more than his body.

"Arcee told you," Ratchet grunted, unsurprised. "I haven't the faintest idea how to separate a melded spark. I'm surprised they survived it, _if _they survived it, I didn't see much of a sign of Sunstreaker." He rubbed a hand over his face, tiredly, and started towards the infirmary where a plethora of injured awaited him, Optimus following. "And if they are both in there, it's a tossup to whether or not they are even sane. If their spark was meant to be in one piece, it wouldn't have split when it was conceived."

"You can only do so much, Ratchet," Optimus said, softly and Ratchet was sourly grateful that Optimus had his hands full carrying someone else; otherwise he'd be fighting off some kind of touch and right now, he didn't think he had the strength to handle what it would do to him.

"I can never do enough, Optimus," Ratchet snarled, quickening his pace and his Prime followed him without protest. Both of them were filthy and stinking with soot, with death, and Ratchet was grimly looking forward to helping give a little life tonight.

tbc


	49. Interstate

Author's Note: First, I want to apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter out! Just been crazy busy with real life. Second, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment and let me know they are enjoying the story. Every one of them fills me with happiness, to know that people are still reading even after all this time. Thank you so very much and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Title:** Interstate  
**Author:** Keelywolfe**  
**

* * *

In his dream, Sam was warm, that perfect, comfortable warm that came from sleeping with someone else. Not just anyone else, not that Sam had a lot of experience in that. A couple of sleepovers and that one time he'd had to share a hotel room when they'd vacationed with his Uncle Leon was definitely not the same.

Bumblebee didn't get to stay with him all night very often but when he did, this was the way Sam liked to wake up. Spooned around him, his face buried in Bee's soft, soft hair, and oh, so happily warm. Every other part of his body was cramped and aching, Sam dimly realizing they were curled up in Bumblebee's back seat, the faint vibration around them indicating that they were driving somewhere. It seemed to matter a lot less with a warm body curled up with him, the round curve of a perfect ass pressed firmly against the front of his jeans.

As mornings went, this wasn't a bad way to start. Sam sighed, tightened his arms and snugged up against that warmth, his brain already halfway into the sex that was just about to be on the menu, if he had his way and Sam suspected Bee wouldn't protest.

He did not expect the protest to come from another quarter, a soft, feminine voice coming meekly from the body curled up in his arms. Mikaela's voice.

"Um...Sam?"

He went from mostly asleep to wide awake with the force of a smack to the head with a baseball bat, tearing away from Mikaela and scrambling back into the miniscule spare room that the backseat had to offer. Camaros didn't offer much in the way of backseat space and Bee only had a little more than the norm but somehow Sam managed to compact himself so that he and Mikaela weren't touching at all, torn between the urge to die right there and to run screaming out of the car, no matter that they were going probably a hundred miles an hour.

Mikaela sat up and they met gazes. They'd managed to sleep through the sunrise and the light pouring in through the windows didn't give Sam much in the way of a hiding place, not even the comfort of darkness. Their stare lengthened, uncomfortably, and then Mikaela abruptly started giggling, helplessly, "I never thought I'd say this, but I don't think I'm the droid you're looking for."

The tension shattered like a dropped glass and both of them started snickering, a little hysterically but fuck, what a night. Daylight seemed that much harsher as Sam started remembering and he scrubbed his watering eyes with the back of his hand. In the front seats, his parents stirred, both of them groaning as they shifted, probably just as sore as Sam was from sleeping all cramped like that. Probably worse, it wasn't like his parents had youth on their sides.

"I suspect I'm the droid you were looking for," came softly. "I'd join you, but I doubt the three of us would be very comfortable back there."

"We'd have to be closer friends than I prefer, that's for sure," Mikaela yawned, stretching. "Where are we, Bumblebee?"

"Oh, are we speaking to the droid this morning?" Bee's voice, always a little rough, was positively staticy through his radio speakers, but the warm teasing in his tone made Sam relax, a little. Still, the memory of the night before, of that blue light flickering from his fingertips to...to what? Heal Bumblebee? That was stepping into a chapter of science fiction that Sam wasn't sure he was ready to deal with and Bumblebee hadn't seemed any happier about it.

"We are on highway 375 just outside of the city of Perfection," Bee said, interrupting Sam's thoughts. Right, better to focus on the now.

"Perfection?" His dad frowned, "Haven't heard of that one."

"It's a smaller city, population less than I would prefer, but I believe we'll be safe enough for a moment's respite. I haven't seen any sign of Decepticons since Ravage caught up with us last night."

"Ravage?" his mom asked, a little uncertainly.

"He won't be bothering us anymore," Bee said firmly. "Right now, all of you need food. Not one of you has a blood sugar level that I like and I believe that it goes without saying that you might like to use the facilities. Depending on how my scans are, we may stay and get some rest as well, if it seems safe enough."

"Of course, you must be exhausted," Mom said instantly, stroking a hand over Bee's dashboard in a way that made Sam shake his head, bemused.

"I can go approximately twenty-six earth days without recharge, but I do thank you for your concern, Judy."

"Just don't wear yourself out, sweetie," his mom countered. "Don't you think I forgot that you were hurt last night."

"I'm fine," Bee murmured, and was it Sam's imagination or did he sound just a little subdued. "We have just over twenty minutes until we arrive."

"Guess I can hold it that long," Mikaela mumbled, already drowsing against the window again.

Tired as he was, Sam didn't think he could sleep again. Instead, he looked out the tiny side window, watching the streaking landscape next to them as Bee drove on in silence.

* * *

The entire city was a Pit-damned fucking mess, that was for sure. Ironhide was slowly making his way through the wreckage, less concerned with causing more damage than he was finding any Decepticons lingering around. Right now they were about as vulnerable as they could be without all of them painting a target right over their sparks and Ironhide wanted to be sure that any stragglers that had been left behind were just as dead as they looked.

If it had been possible, Ironhide would have gladly made them _more _dead but thus far, that was not a power Primus had gifted him with. Something to pray for.

He paused, giving the crumpled frame that was all that remained of his shield array a forlorn look. Far as he could tell, it'd done as much as it could but nothing could have kept back what the Decepticons had chosen to throw at them. That much firepower and for what? Sure, they'd managed to destroy the city, kill a few humans, but that was a pittance to the kind of damage the Decepticons usually threw around. Toss in the fact that it looked like they'd taken some huge losses to do it and this didn't add up. Not just to lower their property values, not even to take out the Twins. No sense in throwing dollars after pennies.

A figure that was standing very still caught Ironhide's peripheral sensors and Ironhide turned, his cannons humming with leashed power. He frowned to see Prowl standing alone, his optics moving slowly over the debris. Lowering the gauge on his cannons to a ready standby, Ironhide went to him.

Prowl didn't look at him, his doors stiff and high on his back, barely vibrating with his tension as he said, softly, "I did this."

"Now, don't you start taking blame you haven't earned," Ironhide drawled with a shake of his head.

Not that it was going to do much fucking good, he knew. Prowl and Optimus were the type to take this kind of thing to spark, and never mind that the Decepticons who'd caused the damage. The way those two took on blame, you'd think they were secretly commanding Starscream through remote control.

"I'm not," Prowl said calmly. "This blame is very much earned. I did the calculations and this," he gestured around him, at the devastation of their city, "Is the result."

"Primus save me from fucking martyrs," Ironhide snorted. If Prowl wanted to wallow in guilt, Ironhide would be happy to indulge him with some low-grade moonshine. Later. "Quit acting like an old man who can't get the damned kids off his lawn and start figuring out what happens next."

Prowl vented a sigh. "How many humans died?"

"What the hell does that matter right now?"

"I need to know for tactical reasons," Prowl said sharply, looking at Ironhide for the first time. That was a start, anyway, a good sign that he was locking his emotions behind logic which was just what they needed right now.

"Fine," Ironhide agreed smoothly, "Three dead. Every damned one of them that was here is wounded and some of 'em don't look too good."

Prowl hummed softly, taking that in. "What did Ratchet say?"

That made Ironhide laugh aloud, the sound echoing horrifically in the empty, silent air. "If you want to ask Ratchet which of his patients are the most likely to croak, go right ahead. I'm a little too attached to my circuit boards to try that slag. He's working on those humans like he expects Unicron himself to come pry 'em out of his cold, dead hands. Probably give him a dent in the head for his troubles on his way to meet Primus."

Prowl barked out a surprised laugh of his own, "Yes, I think I could see Ratchet doing battle with Unicron." He fell silent, head dipping down as he said, quietly, "We haven't heard anything about the others yet."

It wasn't a question but Ironhide answered it anyway. "Not a blip or a text." Ironhide said, softly. "And Ratchet says the twins…they're too disoriented to give much information. All he got was that Bumblebee snagged the humans and took off."

"I don't like guessing. It's imprecise and reckless," Prowl vented softly, as close to a complaint as he ever got. "But if I were to conjecture, I would say that once they knew what was coming, Bumblebee left without the twins, either by his own initiative or theirs, because he can cloak. So long as the Decepticons didn't get a visual of him, they would be safer with him than here and standard operating procedure is for him not to check in without a secure line. It would only reveal his position."

Ironhide snorted. "Doubt he could have gotten the twins to leave even if they could cloak."

Prowl inclined his head in silent agreement, "By my calculations at his top speed, Bumblebee could be six hundred miles from here by now, in nearly any direction. Possibly further, depending on how hard he pushed his systems."

"We sending out a search party?"

For the first time Ironhide could remember, Prowl hesitated, and that sure as hell wasn't like him. Never met a mech as decisive as their tactician and that made him damned good at his job.

"No," he said finally, "It would be pointless and it would leave the city vulnerable again." Prowl's mouth twisted sourly. "What's left of it. We can't leave the wounded while we search for a single bolt in a bucket of screws."

Ironhide nodded, unhappily. "They're on their own, then."

"Yes. Until Bumblebee contacts us, there's really nothing we can do," Prowl tipped his head back, his optics on the blue sky above them, on the warm glow of this planet's sun, far too cheery a warmth for the somber state of all those around them. "Bumblebee would fight for any of those humans, but he'd die for Sam. Let's hope the Decepticons don't give him the opportunity."

* * *

Sam didn't remember falling back asleep, but when Bee finally rolled to a stop, his engine cutting off, he jolted back awake, scrubbing away the damp line of drool from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Blinking hard through the bright morning sunshine, he saw that they were at a restaurant of some sort. A large sign with a pig in an apron, seemingly eager to cook up his brethren, declared it was the Dutch Oven Roadhouse.

Okay, then.

"This looks interesting," Sam said, weakly.

"Doesn't it?" Mom said brightly. "I asked to stop here the second I saw it, they have a breakfast buffet!"

Another sign in the window, handwritten this time, declared that to be true. A $4.99 breakfast buffet sounded more like a trip to Hepatitis-ville than good food. His father didn't seem much enthused either but he climbed out of Bee gamely enough, following his eagerly chatting wife. At least his mom seemed to be able to take this as a happy family road trip rather than fleeing from the enemy.

Mikaela was smiling a little as she pushed up the front seat and Sam followed her, already resigned to the gastrointestinal nightmare soon to follow and hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't have to drive another eight hours today.

Automatically, he started to shut the door and a hand stopped him, Bee's holo climbing out behind him. He shut his own door, giving Sam a little smile.

"I'm not sure how much cash any of you have, so we might want to put this on my credit card," Bee said with quiet wryness. "It'll be a lot harder to trace."

"You have a credit card?"

That got him a raised blond eyebrow. "Yes, and an I.D., Officer. Would you like to see my registration and insurance paperwork as well?"

"Why couldn't Sideswipe have had those when we got arrested?" Sam grumbled and then winced, stricken, because Sideswipe was back in the city and Sam could almost still feel the hard pressure of his mouth against his own. His mouth, shades cooler than Bumblebee's but still it had been…it had…

A hand on his shoulder jolted him, Bumblebee gently touching him, his eyes dark with concern. Impulsively, Sam reached up and caught his hand, squeezed it. More than anything, he wanted to hold him, kiss him. Forget what was going on in their home, God knows how far away.

Somehow, though, he didn't think the other patrons of the Dutch Oven Roadhouse would appreciate that, so he settled for squeezing Bee's hand again, hard enough that his own fingers ached, before he turned to follow the others inside.

* * *

In spite of Sam's dire concerns, the food turned out to be unexpectedly good. Maybe it was just because Sam hadn't eaten in over half a day but he ended up filling three plates up at the buffet. No complicated dishes, just a healthy amount of pancakes, sausage, and oddly, strawberry shortcake that tasted so fresh Sam didn't doubt they'd picked the berries that morning.

The strain of the past night didn't seem to have affected anyone else's appetite either; his mom was already finishing her second plate and Sam had lost count at how many his dad was putting away. Just as well; the way things were going they might not be able to stop again anytime soon.

That thought killed the rest of his appetite and Sam pushed his unfinished plate away. Bumblebee was sitting across from him, sipping at a cup of coffee.

Mikaela paused over her pancakes, fascinated. "You can actually drink that?"

She kept her voice soft but Sam didn't think anyone would be able to hear her over the racket of the crowded restaurant. Apparently, the whole town of Perfection knew about this breakfast buffet because it seemed like most of them were crowded in.

Bee shrugged. "I have a facsimile of a stomach. It doesn't digest human food, I just store it until I eliminate it later." He made a face. "Since I'm not sure when I'd be able to dispose of it, I'm sticking with coffee. Any food I take in won't be hermetically sealed and I'm sure we could all live without the smell."

"If it doesn't give you any energy, why do you bother?" Mom asked, curiously as she buttered another biscuit.

"Camouflage," Bumble said, smilingly a little thinly. "We blend in, remember? A human that never consumed food would certainly raise eyebrows."

"Just the car gets you noticed," Dad grunted, finishing up another plate. "You drew less attention as the clunker."

"True," Bee said, and this time his smile was a little warmer. "But sometimes it's easier to hide in plain sight. Besides," his grin widened. "I look good."

That got him an agreeable laugh from the whole table, "Not going to argue that," Sam said, a little shyly. This felt oddly…normal. Eating with his friends, his parents, his boyfriend. Something like a bizarre alien form of the Brady Bunch.

"Glad to hear it," Bee smirked. He took another sip of coffee, his expression turning pensive. "On the other hand, I can consume energon in the same way and support my receptors like that. For extended missions in a sensor array I can carry extra energon inside my holoform and prolong its life cycle."

Sam is interested in spite of himself. This was probably the most surreal breakfast conversation he'd ever had. "So how long can you keep a holo going like that?"

"A considerable amount of time, me more than most. As a mech, I was designed to be able to spend years without a ready source of energon. I have solar converters built in while the others are dependent on Ratchet's solar collectors."

"Why doesn't everyone have those?" Mikaela asked, frowning.

"A combined issue of the expense and the difficulty in making them," Bumblebee fell silent as their waitress strolled up and sat their bill on the table, only talking again when she was out of earshot. "I was sparked with them because it was necessary for my primary function. But Cybertron did have a working economy at one time and adding solar collectors to mechs that weren't intended to use them frequently would have been prohibitively expensive."

Bee picked up a fork, toying with it, his eyes on the table, "If we'd known what was coming, I think Optimus would have approved it despite the expense. By the time we knew—"

He fell silent and Sam rested a hand on his knee, safely out of sight beneath the table cloth. After a moment, a hand covered his own, twining their fingers together.

"Anyway," Bee said, visibly shaking off his mood, "I've been scanning the entire time we've been in here. I think we'd be safe enough to stay at the motel next door for a few hours and consider our next move."

"Whatever you say, kid," Dad said, agreeably, and Sam didn't point out that Bumblebee was older than their country. He didn't seem it, not right now, as he snagged the bill and went to pay, leaving the rest of them to collect themselves enough to follow the alien car who was currently protecting them all.

* * *

Wearily, Ratchet tromped into the Infirmary, yet another wounded human cradled gently in his hands. The sight of Jolt next to the humans already resting there stilled him, his frown deepening as he stormed up to the smaller 'bot.

_::What do you think you are doing?:: _Ratchet demanded over a private line, letting his irritation leak through the link.

Wide, earnest optics gazed back up at him, a flare of _innocence/concern_ filtering back through the open line. _::Just checking their status. All of them are still stable but Williams is going to need another transfusion soon. He's still leaking fluids internally. The nanites are repairing the damage as quickly as they can. It won't be fast enough, though; a transfusion will give them more time to work. ::_

Ratchet said nothing, let his astonishment speak for itself. It was met with a touch of indignation. _::I trained as a field medic briefly, back at the beginning of the war.::_

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Ratchet asked, annoyed, closing off the line.

Jolt answered, confused. "I thought you knew."

He should have, he realized, his annoyance growing. It was in Jolt's file but he'd been so wrapped up in all his work, he never noticed it. The little blue mech had been here for nearly three months now, three months that Ratchet could have been utilizing his skills, which were, Ratchet noted, somewhat better than 'brief' training. No point in worrying over that now, he could use an extra set of hands.

"Are you competent to set up the transfusion?" Ratchet asked, stiffly. "Do not try to impress me by exaggerating your skills, I will _not_appreciate it and it will be the last time you set foot in this infirmary again unless you're the one on the berth."

"I would never do that," Jolt said, firmly. "And I believe I am. The monitors will warn me long before I do anything wrong, anyway."

"True enough," Ratchet admitted grudgingly. "Get to it then, I need to check on the others."

Jolt scampered to obey as Ratchet settled the human in his hands under a monitor that was currently scanning two other solders. One more shouldn't strain its capacities. For all that he'd been trapped beneath wreckage for hours, this human was in decent condition, more dehydrated than wounded, and Ratchet left the monitors to do their work, striding heavily over to the mech side of the infirmary where Sideswipe and Blaster were both laid out in stasis.

Strange to see Sideswipe…was it Sideswipe?...so still, his armor a color that Ratchet had never seen on either of the Twins. Neither had ever gone exclusive with one shade as they changed forms, few 'bots did, but silver was an unusual choice. An unsettling one.

Settling at the side of the berth, Ratchet began the long, tedious process of patching lines. It was something medical nanites could do but it would take ages and Optimus wanted Sideswipe awake and functioning as quickly as possible, the better to ask him what had become of Bee and the humans. Not that Ratchet could promise 'functioning' in any shape or form of it. That all depended on the condition of his spark and there was very little Ratchet could do about that.

So still. It was hardly the first time Sideswipe or Sunstreaker had been in his care. Ratchet had been their very first physician, had been at the twins sparking, a witness to both them and Bumblebee a few days later. It had been the first time he'd seen Optimus since leaving the political arena and by then, he'd been far past his junior medic days.

Ratchet's training would have been considered unusual by any standard. It was rare for a mech to change his occupation at his age and Ratchet had been, by far, one of the eldest trainees there and the younger ones had been in awe of him. The trainers had not, had pushed him just as hard as they would have any youngling and Ratchet had thrived beneath their pressure. Some days it was difficult to remember that once he'd been something other than a medic and much as he hated the fact that it gave him a front-row seat to the demise of their kind, Ratchet could never regret the lives he had saved. Including this one.

It was traditional to have a medic on hand when sparking new younglings. Occasionally, issues arose in the new frames that could have fatal results without medical intervention

Ratchet paused, his fingers stilling on Sideswipe's shredded cabling as he remembered seeing Optimus again, after so long. Ratchet had been upgraded to the point of being unrecognizable but Optimus had known him. Optimus had personally invited him. At that time, going would be an obvious sign of siding with Optimus when many were still trying to play neutral, not wanting to pick their Prime over their High Lord.

Ratchet hadn't hesitated.

His very first sparking and it had turned into a splitting, a mad scrambled for another protoform and every second of delay increased the odds of losing them both. But even then there were rumblings of war, not nearly enough mechs present for a sparking. Regardless, they'd had to risk it and Sideswipe had been put into his form first and Ratchet had always suspected Sunstreaker had been damaged by the wait.

He'd told Sam once that Sunstreaker's issues were not his fault and he'd meant it. In a strange way, they were Ratchet's. He hadn't been a good enough medic for them then. He wasn't sure any could have been but that hardly mattered. The responsibility was still his.

They had both been distressed and Ratchet's voice had been the first sound they'd ever heard, soothing their fear and loss. He doubted they remembered that; he did not remember his own sparking. Ratchet had certainly never told them. The last thing he needed was the strings of some false sense of attachment tying him to more mechs that were almost certainly going to die someday. Ratchet had enough attachments that he couldn't help.

Ratchet winced at the unexpected sound of a plasma canon firing. Belatedly, a call of, _'fire in the hole!'_came over an open line, Ironhide being of a firm belief that a hole in the head was a good way to confirm dead.

Unwillingly, his optics were drawn to the glassless window, towards the large, soot-covered figures visible to him, interspersed with the smaller humans. They were moving wreckage out of the way, searching for more survivors. Not all of the humans were accounted for yet and they'd found the bodies of a few smaller Decepticons, barely more than drones. It was one of those that Ironhide had given a new air vent and Ratchet made a note to needle Ironhide about it later.

He focused back on Sideswipe, on his memory of that unsettling beginning for these twins. They'd been taken away for their sparkling integration afterward and he hadn't seen any of them again until they'd been on the battlefield.

Now they were here, both their souls together as they hadn't been since their conception, their spark fluxing frantically as each half struggled to accommodate the other.

He'd failed them once; Ratchet had no intention of doing it a second time.

Bumblebee in contrast had been born as easily and sweetly as he still was. Chosen for a body designed specifically for espionage and he excelled in his duties. Sometimes, in his unwary moments, Ratchet felt a twinge of pride in the young mech, allowed himself to ache for the loss he knew Bee would feel when Sam's unfairly short lifespan separated them-

Bee was still missing, along with his charges.

The memories were ones Ratchet hadn't accessed in a long, long time, and he faltered a little thinking of Optimus. Ratchet hadn't seen their Prime again until the war had begun, had bonded to Wheeljack in the interim.

With years of distance between it, he suddenly realized that Optimus had been expressing interest in him even then. Subtly, yes, but obvious in retrospect. Inviting him of all medics to a sparking, when his reputation as a bad-tempered but competent medic had long since been established. Hardly the empathic type normally chosen for such a task.

How Optimus had known that he would easily soothe the new, frightened sparks was something Ratchet would never know. He had, though, eased their transitions with gentleness and caring that Ratchet would hardly have believed himself he possessed. Soothed their fears until they'd calmed, then allowed them to be taken away to begin lives that would be torn in an unending war.

Things had been so different then; his knowledge of Optimus had been different. Then, he had been a revered Prime, not a close friend that Ratchet was just as likely to smack in the head as he was any other of his patients. A close friend, a lover, and-

The sudden rush of _need_pushed past every block that Ratchet had put up to control it, surging through him like a rush of ungrounded electricity and Ratchet staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall as he fought to get it under control again.

Fought, and failed, firewalls crashing down as desire overwhelmed him and Ratchet commed Optimus before he even considered it. There were a hundred, a thousand things their Prime needed to be doing now and Ratchet considered none of them as Optimus opened a link.

_::What's wrong?:: _he demanded, reacting to Ratchet's urgency.

_::Come to the infirmary:: _Ratchet sent, added a frantic,_ ::Please, please come::_

_::I'm on my way.::_

Ratchet closed the line before more than a trickle of that desperation could leak through, tried to soothe his burning sensors with the knowledge that Optimus was coming, he was, soon, he would be here—

It was only moments before Optimus was striding swiftly through the door, covered with soot and filth, the only color visible on him was the glowing blue of his optics. His weariness was as obvious as the grime coating him and to Ratchet's optics, he had never looked better.

Without a word, Ratchet went to him, catching one foot behind Optimus's knee and shoving before the other mech could even formulate a protest. The force of him hitting the ground shuddered through the building but Ratchet was already locking the doors, ignoring the gaping window as he covered Optimus with his own body, felt their armor grinding together.

"Oh, yes," Ratchet groaned, past embarrassment, just knowing that he needed to _touch_, had to touch _this _mech, and it was unbearable good, hot pleasure sparking through him with the force of a plasma blast.

In the infirmary with two unconscious bots on tables and more humans in the other room, Ratchet writhed and ground against Optimus, scraping paint and soot until they were both filthy, moving against him until Ratchet shuddered, keening out his pleasure softly before collapsing on top of Optimus.

It wasn't until his processor settled that Ratchet had a moment to be sourly grateful that Optimus had let him without a word of protest. Even now, Optimus had his hands on the smooth plating of Ratchet's back, his touch hesitant. A hundred, a thousand things for Prime to be doing but he only held Ratchet, soothed the tremors that still shook him.

After a long moment, Optimus spoke, softly, "Ratchet?"

"Don't say anything," Ratchet interrupted. Frankly, he couldn't recall anything quite so embarrassing in the entirety of his long life. He'd gotten off like an explosion, with two patients right next to them and Jolt in the next room, either getting quite an earful or perhaps muting his audio receivers. Worse, he knew very well that Optimus hadn't even turned on his cooling fans. They hadn't even linked properly, just this disturbing….whatever this was. Even Ratchet wasn't sure.

Optimus shifted beneath him uncertainly, his hands resting on Ratchet's back. Not that he would keep quiet for long, Ratchet knew Optimus entirely too well for that. They lay there, the two of them filthy in one of the few buildings left standing in their city, the scent of an overload that shouldn't even have been possible heavy in the air.

True to form, Optimus tried again. "I don't think—"

"Be quiet." Ratchet said, very calmly. "I'm hoping if I concentrate hard enough, I can reformat myself right here and then I won't have to look you in the optics."

Optimus was silent, considering, "If I promise not to look at you, can we talk?"

Ratchet weighed his options. Spontaneous death didn't seem like it was working out, so why not? "All right," he agreed warily, "But if you look at me, I reserve the right to continuing trying to commit mental suicide."

Optimus nodded, his chin scraping against Ratchet's helm. "Very well. Ratchet, I don't want you to think I am unwilling but…this," he gave Ratchet a little squeeze and he shivered, helplessly, a tremor of pleasure rocking him. "Is somewhat disturbing."

"Oh, is it disturbing you? You poor little thing!" Ratchet snarled, promptly forgetting his own rule as he leaned back to glare at Optimus. "I'm the one who's getting these urges to fling you down and…and…rub against you like…like…"

"Like a human," Optimus finished softly.

"I was going to say animal, but yes, like a human! I don't understand it, there's nothing wrong in my protocols! It's like I have a virus but I keep scanning clean." He shook his head, met Optimus's worried gaze with one of his own. "I shouldn't have called you here. If I'm infected—"

"You told me yourself, you're scanning clean," Optimus hold on him tightened almost to the point of discomfort.

"Unless it's something I haven't come across before. And what would be the point? I'm getting increasing urges to interface but that's hardly detrimental, they aren't about to kill me with embarrassment, I'm not a human-" he stopped, optics narrowing. "…like a human," he murmured.

"Ratchet—"

"Why didn't I see it? It's so obvious, but of course I didn't see it, I've been wrapped up in a dozen other things, why would I even think to look for—" He blinked, seemed to notice Optimus was still there with some surprise. "Optimus, I'll contact you later, I need to check on the patients and run a few scans." Briskly, Ratchet rose to his feet, already turning away.

Optimus grabbed his arm and stopped him, a rare flash of irritation crossing his face, "You and I are overdue for a very long talk."

"I know," he snapped. "I do know. Give me just a little more time."

Optimus vented slowly, "I am a very patient mech, Ratchet, but I do not like being kept in the dark. Particularly about something like this that might affect my entire team." Hard tone and Ratchet winced a little. That was his Prime speaking, not his lover and Ratchet nodded, straightened up respectfully.

"Yes, sir," he murmured. "I will keep you updated, I promise."

"See that you do," he hesitated, softening just slightly, his hand hesitating close to Ratchet's face in an almost-touch. Almost, his fingers close enough that Ratchet could feel the pulse of his energy field, then Optimus withdrew it without another word as he turned and left.

Ratchet vented slowly and wished that he wasn't disappointed that Optimus hadn't touched him one last time.

* * *

The motel was less of a happy surprise than the buffet. It did have a bed and a shower, both strong points in its favor, though, so Sam forgave it for being reminiscent of the Bates Motel.

His parents had gotten a room of their own, and Mikaela, both of them on the other side of Sam and Bee so that Bumblebee could keep them within scanning range. None of them had done more than murmur a quick goodnight before staggering into their rooms, exhaustion and good food leading them down the path towards sleep.

Another sort of hunger was starting to edge into Sam's perceptions and he decided to wait on the shower until after, since he'd need one anyway. With a sigh, Sam sprawled back on the bed, already holding a hand out to Bee.

A hand that Bee didn't take, lingering back, "There's a few ways I can eliminate what I consumed but the most expedient is just functioning as a human would."

"Uh…" Sam just blinked, tiredly.

Bee laughed, a little, "I have to take a piss."

"Oh! Sure, yeah."

Somehow, the word surreal didn't cover it as he lay on the bed and listened to Bumblebee 'eliminate'. Did it still look like coffee? How would that look, pissing coffee, ugh, what if he'd eaten any of the food—

The sound of the toilet flushing interrupted that line of thought and Sam abandoned it gratefully, listened with bemusement as Bee washed his hands and then stepped out, still holding a towel. He didn't get on the bed, only stood there for a long moment. Long enough for emotions to start twisting in Sam's gut, the memory of Bee's expression the night before and, god, and, and-

"Bee-" Sam started, wincing at the thickness of his voice.

Finally, Bee sat on the edge of the bed, touched his mouth, softly, hushing him. "You need to rest."

"I need to know," Sam's voice cracked, physical and emotional exhaustion were overwhelming him but he pressed on, doggedly, "Are you afraid of me? Of…of what's happening to me?"

Instead of the automatically denial he'd expected, Sam was surprised to see Bee considering his question. His heart was hammering desperately when Bee finally shook his head.

"I'm not afraid of you, Sam," Bee said, softly, "I'm afraid for you."

It was enough. Sam was sitting up before the last word left Bee's mouth, already pressing their mouths together desperately. "I need…I need…"

"Shhh," Bee soothed, "I know what you need."

They'd had gentle, sleepy sex before, a dozen times, Bee waking Sam for a quick charge but Sam didn't think he could ever remember Bumblebee being so achingly tender with him before. Every touch inflamed Sam more, whimpering moans escaping him as Bee's fingers moved between his legs in slippery little touches and then Bee was pressing inside him, edging deeper with each gentle, slow thrust until Sam was writhing against the bed. Sweat-slick skin clinging as much as their hands, the bed creaking with each slow movement, and Bee was utterly silent, the only word he spoke was Sam's name, like a prayer.

tbc


	50. Safety of Illusions

**Title:** Safety of Illusions  
**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** TF: Bayverse  
**Series:** Human Series

* * *

It was the second time in one day that Sam had woken up to a warm body pressed against his own. This time, though, it was spooned around him and Sam sighed, snuggling back into it. Still sleepy, he was debating on whether to just burrow back into the blankets when his stomach growled, a loud gonging sound that drew a low chuckle from the body behind him.

"I think you might be hungry," Bumblebee mock-whispered against Sam's ear.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam yawned, stretching. He rolled over enough to look into green eyes, smiling up at Bumblebee. Almost, he could pretend that this was a vacation, of sorts, hide in this hotel room and pretend that horrible things weren't happening back at their home. "Hi, there."

"Hi yourself," Bee smiled, pressed a soft, tender kiss to Sam's lips. He drew back before Sam could deepen it, ignoring his scowl. "I think you need solid food more than a living Duracell. The others are still asleep. Why don't we get some food for the road and then wake them. I'd rather not stay here too much longer."

"Mmkay," Sam bit back another yawn. "How long were we out?"

"Only three hours, but that's already pushing the limit to the amount of time I like to stay in one place. Come on, food, then drive."

"Yes sir," Sam sassed, earning a swat on the ass that only made him laugh as he pulled on his shirt, cramming his feet into his tennis shoes before following Bumblebee down.

The little restaurant they'd gone to before was on lunch specials now and Bumblebee was waiting for a chance to place a large to-go order when Sam's bladder informed him that there were other issues than food that needed to be taken care of.

"What do you think we should get?" Bee asked, studying the menu with the kind of intensity usually reserved for disarming bombs. "Nothing too messy, I'd rather not have that…well, in the car."

"Just get everyone a cheeseburger and fries," Sam said absently, eyes scanning for the bathroom. At the back, of course. "I'll be right back."

"What? Where are you going?" Sharply, green eyes boring into him.

"Just the bathroom," Sam said, laughing a little nervously. "I'm not running out on you."

"I would never suggest you might, I…all right. Bathroom. Cheeseburger."

"In that order," Sam teased, before he made his way through the maze of tables to the restroom. It was relatively clean, at least, white tile and a little bouquet of plastic flowers in a little vase sitting on the sink next to the hand soap.

Sam stepped up to one of the urinals, sighing in relief as he relieved himself. Yeah, he needed a guardian but he still had to at least be able to take a leak from time to time. Finished, he slapped the flush button and was still zipping his pants when he heard it. Not the creak of the door, not footsteps. It was a voice, soft and deep, crackling with inhumanness.

"He's terribly fond of you, isn't he?" Echoing queerly, the tone oily with false concern. An oddly sweet, husky voice that sent gooseflesh prickling up Sam's arms, down his back. "It took him ever so long to let you out of his sight."

His bladder felt heavy and if Sam hadn't just emptied it, he'd have been afraid he would wet his pants. God, he was about to die, horribly, he was sure, right here, in a tiny bathroom in a town whose name he couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, Sam didn't move, didn't dare, but when the expected pain didn't come, he opened them again and turned towards the being he could feel standing behind him.

No one could ever mistake him for human. It was something in the way he stood, too still, his eyes flickering almost bird-like around the room. Pale eyes, so light that they were almost colorless. It gave him the disturbing appearance of only having pupils. His hair was an odd, tangled mass around his head, a strange, deep red that was nothing like Sideswipe's. It made Sam think of dried blood, the splatter that was left on the highway after a trucker hit a deer. It was the only spot of color on his body, skin and eyes pale, his clothes dark.

He was beautiful in the way all holoforms seemed to be, the way all mechs seemed to be, choosing gorgeous cars and bodies to model themselves after. This form was no exception, his beauty ghastly, terrifying in its unearthliness and his eyes literally sparkled with profane glee. With a jolt of the purest fear, Sam realized dimly that this being, holoform, alien, whatever he was, was completely insane. There was a wrongness about him that had nothing to do with not being human. Sam had spent enough time around Autobot holoforms that he could feel it, that horrible _wrongness_prickling over him.

The man, not a man, no, not at all, smiled at him gently, his voice a harsh, inhuman whisper of mocking sincerity, "If you scream, I will personally kill every other human in this pit-forsaken little town."

Sam believed him, utterly. His mouth was sandpaper dry and he wet his lips the best he could, tasting the sweat beading on his upper lip before croaking out, "Who are you?"

"That's very forward of you," the Decepticon tutted, tapping one long, pale finger against his equally colorless lips. "I think it might be best if we go without names, don't you?"

"Sure," Sam swallowed sharp, metallic fear thick in his mouth as his throat clicked dryly.

"You aren't begging for your life," he observed, tilting his head curiously. His long hair spilled over his shoulder, brilliant against the blackness of his shirt. "How quaint."

"Do you want me to?" Sam would do anything to keep this guy talking. It was a faint, desperate hope, but Bumblebee would have to get suspicious soon, have to come check on him. The smirk that curved his mouth made Sam's hopes fade. There was something about him, some light in his unnatural eyes and Sam wondered if he wasn't hoping for just that. Better then, maybe, if Bee didn't come, if he stayed away until this was…was over.

"You should," For just a second, the pretense fell and those colorless eyes flared with hate, burning, vicious heat that Sam imagined was like looking into hell itself. Then he seemed to catch himself, dropping back into playing human as he said, boredly, "You have no idea how very lucky you are."

"Lucky?" Sam asked. He was barely aware of stepping back as the other stepped forward, pressing back into the narrowed space between the urinals, the tiled wall cool against his back.

"Oh yes," he assured him, stepping closer yet. His feet, bare, Sam realized, were disturbingly silent on the floor, like he was pretending to be human with the least amount of effort required. "It could have been Barricade who found you. I don't think he would have been very kind."

So this wasn't Barricade at least. That didn't surprise him. Barricade was a blunt tool, used to force, bludgeoning his way through every time he and Sam met. This, whoever he was, was a more subtle, deeper danger. Like a snake, waiting for him to look away before he struck. "Probably not," Sam agreed, desperately. Sweat was starting to sting in his eyes, his own fear a heavy, frantic throb in his pulse.

"But I shall," he breathed and Sam forced himself not to flinch when one long-fingered hand reached out, pressed lightly over his heart. Even through his shirt Sam felt an alien chill, one sharp point of cold. "Why, I'm even going to let you go."

"You are." Sam tried to keep the doubt from his voice, along with any tiny dregs of hope. Tried to keep his voice flat, uninteresting. He'd beg if he had to but better, maybe, to not say anything, to wait and see what he needed to do to get out of this alive.

"Of course," Just as quickly as he'd stepped in, the Decepticon moved back, leaving Sam an open path to the door. He flapped one hand in a careless, shooing gesture. "Scurry back, little insect, he'll be missing you soon."

Sam took a wary step, another, not daring to look away. He looked amused, unholy light dancing in those ghastly eyes. There were only three steps to the door and Sam managed one, two, before cold hands on his arms reminded him that it didn't matter if he watched. Holoforms weren't bound by the same constrictions as real humans. A hard, icy body pressed against his own and he shuddered in revulsion. He'd only thought Sunstreaker felt cold. This was like being held by a corpse, heavy, dead meat pressed against him.

"I nearly forgot, sweet," Freezing breath against his ear, damp coldness. "I do believe there _is _something I want from you, after all."

He couldn't scream, pain exploded at the back of his skull, thrust like a spike of pure agony into his head and then there was nothing.

* * *

The infirmary had been well designed, by both humans engineers and Ratchet. Split into two sides, one for soldiers and one for Autobots, and Ratchet wasn't naïve enough to believe that if he hadn't offered to care for the human soldiers that it would have been anywhere near as well-stocked.

He didn't resent that bit of xenophobia; all species had it in some form or another and he didn't pretend his own species wasn't included in that. All that mattered was that it _was _well-stocked, with nearly every item he had requisition supplied to him and while no medic on Cybertron would have been impressed by it, he had no doubt that not a few human hospitals would be. The builders had met and even exceeded a few of his expectations; aside from the main examination rooms there were a few smaller, private rooms as well as a lower level that served to store supplies. A Cybertronian's self-repair could heal wounds but it couldn't replace limbs or other parts, too many to name, and Ratchet kept a store of them, most of them collected from dead Decepticons.

It was in the lower levels that Ratchet also kept a few chemicals that he used in his work, drums of them neatly labeled and stored, and when he was finally finished with his myriad of tests, the expected results glaring up at him from his data pad, he went down to the storage rooms and selected one of them. A canister as large as an oil drum, marked carefully with the human skull and crossbones that indicated the contents were poisonous.

Ignoring the warning, Ratchet popped the lid off it as he settled himself on the floor and took a long, deep swig from it, cycling off his optics as he leaned back and relaxed. All his patients were stable at the moment; the humans receiving the fluids and antibiotics required before Ratchet could perform surgery on the internal injuries that were too complex for the nanites to repair. Frankly, most of them were in better shape than he would have expected after a battle like that, Sergeant Epps being one of the few exceptions. His leg was a concern, to be sure, but Ratchet wasn't finished yet. That little human was going to walk again, on his own legs, if Ratchet had anything to say about it.

Heavy steps registered in his audials, familiar ones, and Ratchet didn't move, only took another deep drink as Ironhide stalked up next to him, dropping the deactivated body of a small Decepticon at Ratchet's feet.

"Brought ya a present," Ironhide said, giving the body a kick. "Figured he's got a few parts he's not using anymore that you might like."

"You always bring the best gifts," Ratchet drawled, taking another long drink. "Not much of a sweet talker, though."

Ironhide snorted, "Mech as easy as you doesn't need his gears greased." He gave Ratchet a nudge with one large foot. "Comfortable?"

"Not uncomfortable enough to move."

Automatic protest rose as Ironhide plucked the canister away, sniffing it appreciatively. "Knew you'd have some high grade hidden away, somewhere, you old booze hound." He took a swig himself, coughing as heavy impurities caught at his intakes, "I know you aren't drinking just because you've got a few patients upstairs, so what's the occasion?"

"I'm pregnant. Soon Optimus and I will be knee-deep in little flame-emblazed sparklings."

Ratchet turned on his optics just in time to catch Ironhide staring at him with an expression that could only be classified as blank horror. Ratchet snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You're getting gullible in your old age. Rest assured, I haven't somehow managed to find a way to impregnate Autobots and I'm not looking for a way, either.

"You're older than me," Hide grumbled. "Going to tell me what's really going on?"

"Ironhide, you are looking at the proud owner of Cybertron's very first venereal disease."

He waited patiently while Ironhide's optics flicked to the left as he accessed his wi-fi, researching the term. After a long moment, Ironhide blew out an irritated vent of air. "Would you be serious?"

"Oh, I am quite serious," Ratchet assured him, "Although I suppose the term isn't an exact match. This one isn't transmitted during sex; rather, it's an infestation of receptors that makes the infected mech, that would be me, require physical stimulation similar to human sexual activity. It's currently making me want to throw Optimus down at any given time, even though I am perfectly capable of giving them the charge they require."

Ironhide promptly handed the canister back and deliberately wiped off his hand. "Sorry I asked."

"Mmm, yes. According to the time stamp they so helpfully provided, I acquired them when I was scanning the two of them after Sam's little incident. It would seem that since I wasn't an active participant, I appealed as a carrier." Carelessly, Ratchet took another long drink of high grade. A thin trickle missed his intake, dribbled down the front of his chassis and Ratchet wiped it away with the back of his hand, licking away the smear. Waste not, want not and all that human slag.

"You're communicating with them?" Ironhide perked up a little at that news.

"Only in the most rudimentary of ways," Ratchet assured him. "I'm embellishing a bit on their intentions. Truth be told, I have no idea why they'd want to infect me. "

"It sure as hell isn't for your charming personality," Ironhide snorted. He vented out a long, deep gust of air. "What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," Ratchet admitted. "At best, this is an inconvenience, at worst? I would suggest quarantine if it weren't for the fact that I doubt it would help. Everyone has been exposed by now. And aside from it being inconvenient, we aren't being hurt by this."

"Sam seemed plenty hurt when he got that message," Ironhide scowled.

Ratchet flapped a hand carelessly, "Incidental. That was from the sudden boost he got from the shard, not from his personal receptors."

"Ratch—" Hesitantly, the lightest touch on his shoulder.

"Please, don't," Ratchet said calmly. "I'm not at my best right now and I don't want these little glitches to get the idea that you're on the energon buffet. Bad enough that Optimus is being forced into this."

That got him a rough shove that nearly knocked him over, his unsteady stabilizers kicking in almost too late.

"Yeah, it's tragic," Ironhide drawled, "Him having to frag you all hours of the day. Not sure how he goes on, knowing that's on the schedule for the foreseeable future. "

"Now who isn't being serious?"

"I'm being plenty serious. I can think of worse things than pinning you."

"I think you're pinning enough without adding me to your list," Ratchet shook his head. "Thanks for the vid, by the way. Stuff of nightmares, that was. I may never recharge again. I've got a permanent reminder flagged to never again ask you for research material."

Ironhide grinned proudly. "Not bad, eh? The breasts are great, you should get a set. Lotta fun."

"Yes, I'll just grow myself a set of breasts, why didn't I think of that? Oh, probably because it's moronic." Ratchet flickered his optics impatiently. "I'll leave the breasts to you and the good captain. Looks good when he overloads, though," Ratchet gave him a wolfish grin. "You just look stupid."

"Very good technical term there, _doctor_. So when do I get my vid?"

"Vid of what?" Ratchet frowned up at him, noting with bemusement the faint halos reflecting in his optics from the lights. High grade wasn't too bad a quality, then.

"Do we have an invisible mech on base that you've been interfacing with three times daily?" Ironhide said with great patience. "Unless Mirage showed up and hasn't bothered to check in, I doubt it. I want to see you and Optimus. 'Specially if you got one of you two enjoying your venereal disease."

"Oh, I don't think so. You got enough of a show spying on us just a few days ago."

Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck ruefully, his large fingers grating loudly against his armor. "Didn't think you noticed me."

"I didn't. The infirmary security cameras did and sent me the data on it." Ratchet gave him a sour look.

"Hey, you were in a public building with the door unlocked." Ironhide protested.

"That explains how you saw it. It does not explain why you stayed."

"Who wouldn't?" Ironhide said appreciatively. "Couldn't see much, though. Give an old mech a thrill and let me have a file."

"No," Ratchet replied with his own particular brand of surly succinctness, high grade be damned.

Ironhide shook his head sadly. "Getting to be a prude in your old age."

"On the contrary, I was just on the floor of the infirmary only a few hours ago and I can assure you that whatever you want to call what I was doing, prudish does not belong."

"In front of patients?" Ironhide mimicked a low whistle.

"Unconscious ones. Not that either of the Twins or Blaster would have turned down a free show." Ratchet took another long swig from the canister even as Ironhide raised an optic ridge at him.

"Planning on getting drunk?" Ironhide asked mildly, not a hint of reproach in his vocalizer.

Ratchet snorted. "This hasn't even dimmed my lights. Most of the humans are doing well enough that I'll be able to attempt a little surgery soon. Some of them have broken bones that I'll need to attend to directly to insure proper healing. Epps in particular."

Ironhide was already nodding, "Yeah, take good care of him for me, will you? Not that I think you wouldn't," he added hastily, as heated protest flared in Ratchet's optics, his armor ruffling with temper. "I'm just fond of that kid." He sighed, scratching at a healing scrape along his thigh armor until Ratchet reached out enough to slap his hand away. "The soldier boys took away the three that died. How are the rest? Not going to lose anymore?"

Again, Ratchet gave Ironhide a narrow glance, optics bright with his fluxing energy state. "For the sake of our friendship and your head, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"All right," Ironhide said agreeably, surrendering. He settled his bulk next to Ratchet with a sigh, ignoring the glare that Ratchet sent his way. "S'matter, you big sparkling, don't want to share your toys?"

"Not these toys!" Ratchet squirmed uncomfortable, "You're sitting too close. Humans are very tactile, ergo, Sam is very tactile and so—"

"The receptors are very tactile. That's interesting." He reached over and drew one finger down Ratchet's arm and the medic yelped.

"I told you not to do that!"

"Sorry," Ironhide said unapologetically. "It was an experiment. In the interest of science."

"I have no interest in being your interest so knock it off!"

"Uh huh," Ironhide shook his head and stood back up. "Well, that's enough of a break for me. I'm gonna head back out."

Ratchet's terse farewell surged into static as Ironhide reached down again and ran a finger down his arm. He jerked away with a low curse. "Ironhide, I swear if you do that again, I am going to hand you your own arm."

Ironhide made a tching sound, "You'd think someone who gets off on something so little would be in a better mood."

"It hasn't worked for Optimus yet, I can't imagine why you think it would work for you," Ratchet snarled.

"Amusing as this has been, I'm going to see if I can get a few minutes of squelching noises out of someone short, dark, and human, before he drops on his feet." Ironhide made his way to the stairs, before he called back, "I'll just tell Optimus you're looking for him."

"Bastard piece of junk metal," Ratchet muttered. He tipped back his canister, consuming the last, thickened dregs and hoped that Optimus didn't take too long getting there.

* * *

"Sam?"

Sam groaned, his cheek pressed firmly against something hard and cold. Blinking, he saw white tile beneath him, speckled with flecks of dark crimson. In his daze, it took him a moment to recognize it and when he did, Sam scrambled away, his eyes glued on the blood-spattered floor. Cold porcelain stopped his backwards flight and he looked around wildly.

A bathroom stall, he realized, not even caring that he'd been lying face first on the probably not very clean floor. From underneath the stall he could see feet, these ones encased in tennis shoes, moving warily across the tile. With clumsy, shaking hands, Sam managed to open the stall door, stumbled out and nearly into Bumblebee, falling gratefully into his strong arms.

"Sam?" Bee gasped, his hands moving over Sam, feeling for injuries. His whole body ached but the only real pain was at the back of his neck. He reached back with nerveless fingers, touched wetness and when he drew his hand back, his fingertips came back bloody.

"Sam, are you all right? I shouldn't have let you come alone, I should have-"

"We need to go now," Sam whispered, his mouth dry, his voice cracking.

"Yes," Bee said, firmly interrupting his own spat of horrified words. "Come on, let's go. What happened?"

Frantically, Sam shook his head, felt wetness trailing down his face. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and saw shiny lines of sweat trailing from his temples, a small trickle of blood down the side of his neck. His eyes were too-wide, fearful. "We need to go. Please!"

"Come on," Bumblebee half-carried him out of bathroom, ignoring the exclamations and horrified looks of the other patrons. He never let Sam go again, even as he paid their bill to the startled waitress who was only just bringing their food.

"What happened, oh, good lord, you all right, honey?" she babbled, shocked, her hands twisting the bills that Bumblebee had just pressed into them. He didn't even bother grabbing the grease-stained sacks, only held Sam as they made their way to the door.

"He's fine," Bee said shortly. "He tripped in the bathroom, hit his head."

"Oh, but, we should call an ambulance, get some paperwork—"

"I'll take him to the hospital," Bee was almost dragging Sam outside, the waitress following, ignored by them both as they made their way over to where Bumblebee was parked.

"But, sir—"

"Fuck off," Bee snarled back at her, eyes blazing. She flinched back, eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.

"I…I just…I'm calling the police," she yelled after them, whirling around and darting back into the restaurant, presumably to do just that.

"Now we really need to get out of here," Bumblebee muttered. His door swung open and he lowered Sam carefully into the passenger seat, heedless of the blood still seeping down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. "Let's get your parents and Mikaela."

"No!" Sam croaked out, grabbing Bee's wrist and holding him with more desperation than strength.

"What?" Startled, Bee paused, not even trying to pull away from Sam's frantic grasp.

"No. They're after me, right? I don't even think they know the others are with us." Maybe. A horrible thought rose, refusing to be dismissed. "Are they okay?"

"Yes," Bee said, instantly. "I was scanning them when you dropped off my radar." Anguish filled his green eyes, "I should never have let you out of my sight, it was only for a two minutes and this—"

Sam shook his head, "Later, okay, we can do the guilt thing later. We need to get out of here, though. My parents, Mikaela, I think…I think if they were going to snag them, they would have already gotten them. It would have been easy, we were far enough away. They'll be safer if I'm not with them."

Expecting protests, Sam was startled when Bee agreed instantly. "All right."

The engine purred to life, Bee's holoform jerking away from Sam's grasp and closing the door tightly before he loped around and climbed into the driver's side. His own door wasn't even shut before Bee was backing out and there was no squeal of tires, no cloud of dust. Only the sensation of movement, and Sam leaned back in his seat, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to still his shaking that still wracked his whole body.

A slim, warm hand touched the back of his fingers lightly and Sam grabbed it, threaded their fingers together desperately as Bee drove them to the outskirts of a little town called Perfection and past, back out into the yawning desert.

tbc


	51. Close Your Eyes

**Title:** Close My Eyes  
**Author:** Keelywolfe  
**Fandom:** TF: Bayverse  
**Series:** Human Series

Note: Sorry for the short chapter, working on getting back into it!

* * *

If Sam had any sense rolling around in his head just now, he would have told Bumblebee, calmly and rationally like he should be, _should_ be, that if they happened to cruise past a state trooper right now, it would not end well. If they didn't get pulled over for the lack of driver, which was honestly probably not that visible at the speed they were going, then that very same speed was worth about a dozen tickets, if not another arrest on Sam's record.

He should say all that, if he had any sense, or any calm, any rationality. Right now, sitting in Bee's backseat driving fuck-all fast out of the little town of Perfection with blood still dripping down his neck, Sam was pretty sure he had none of the above. He did have enough brain power to think, darkly, that the town had really failed to live up to its name.

Bumblebee's holo was in the backseat with him and that pretty much cemented that he was fully uninterested in the pretense of driving. His hands were firm on Sam's neck, gentle fingertips inspecting the bloody wound.

"I'm fine, Bee," Sam protested, stupidly, not even sure it was true. The pain was dull, more of an ache than real hurt.

Bumblebee didn't answer. Something cold and wet swabbed at his neck, leaving a stinging chill in its wake. Sam hissed in protest, flinching away what little amount Bumblebee's grip would allow.

"It's only antiseptic," Bumblebee said evenly, dabbing at it again, mopping away the trickles of blood that still seeped from the ragged cut as he examined it critically. "Ratchet made me start carrying a first aid kit for humans the very day I came to stay with you."

"Remind me to thank him when we see him again," Sam mumbled, unthinkingly. It was only after he said it that it. Sam closed his eyes, flinching again from Bumblebee's more thorough than tender care. "Do you think they're okay?"

Bee didn't answer, only examined the wound again. "It's not too deep, Sam. It's not bleeding anymore. I think a Band-Aid will take care of it."

"Bee—"

"There's no point in speculation just yet," Bee interrupted softly. Sam could hear paper rustling, the distinctive sound of a Band-Aid wrapper being opened. It was pressed carefully into place and somehow Bumblebee managed it without touching the cut itself. Not even the tiniest amount of pain past the faint throb that already existed. Of course there wasn't.

Some of his shock at nearly being murdered to death by a Decepticon in a fucking restaurant bathroom was starting to let up enough to allow some actual thought to filter in and when it did, Sam groaned aloud, burying his face into his hands.

"Fuck, my parents are probably freaking out," Sam moaned. "And Mikaela! I left her again, Jesus, Bee…we…we have to go back. I wasn't thinking clearly, I was too freaked out. We can't leave them there."

Bumblebee didn't answer, packing away the small but unsurprisingly well-stocked little first aid kit and leaned between the seats to tuck it back into the glove box. His speed never changed; according to the gauge, they were going a highly illegal hundred and something in a fifty-five zone away from civilization.

"I'm serious, Bee, we need to turn around," Sam tried to be firm, ignored the tremor in his voice.

Silence, then a quiet, "No. We are not turning around and you are not going to argue with me about it."

"What?" Sam looked at him, disbelieving and Bee kept his eyes forward, refused to meet Sam's eyes. "Fuck that, if you think you can just tell me—"

"I believe you misunderstand," Bee said, coolly, and finally, he flicked a glance at Sam. His eyes were burning an unearthly green, a very forcible reminder that Bumblebee was so not from around here. "I am not telling you what you can or cannot do. I am stating simple fact. We are not turning around."

"Oh, yeah?" If Bee thought the glowing eyes and the sudden need to assert his dominance were going to help him out, he had another fucking thing coming, "And you think I won't argue about that because you said so?"

"An argument requires two or more participants, Sam." His holo vanished. Fucking-

Sam ground his teeth together, eyes hot, prickling with frustration. "We left them there alone, Bee."

"We left them in a decent motel. The rooms are paid through for the week and your father is in possession of a credit card under an assumed name that he can use for any expenses." Bee's voice always sounded slightly tinny through his internal speakers, in a way that his Holo or even his 'bot form never did.

The back of his neck itched and Sam reached up to scratch it without thinking, yelping aloud as his fingers skated over the Band-Aid. Shit, that hurt. Finally, he said, low, "You gave them a credit card?" Like he'd been planning for this. Like Bee had been ready to abandon them the first chance he'd gotten.

"Yes, in case of an emergency. It's just a simple plastic, easily replicated."

"But—"

"You said yourself, Sam. If the Decepticons were interested in them, whoever it was that discovered us could have easily…" Bee hesitated, the low thrum of his engine the only sound. "…hurt them. For that matter, he could have hurt you a great deal more than he did."

"Then why didn't he? Or take me with him or…or do anything!"

"He did do something, Sam," very quietly, almost gently. "We just don't know what."

There didn't seem like much he could say to that and Sam sank down into the seat, resting his aching head in his hands.

After a long time of cumulative silence, Sam refusing to speak and Bumblebee either respecting that or just not wanting to talk himself, Sam had finally succumbed to sleep. The days of unrest, of everything, came crashing down and he'd drifted off in the backseat, curled up and trying to ignore the way the seat itself seemed to conform to his body, offering whatever comfort was possible.

It was hours later and the sun was ghosting past the horizon when Sam woke up again. He ignored the glory of the sunset, unsurprisingly gorgeous as it inched past the desert horizon, and focused on the Holo once again sitting in the front seat. It was only when he sat up that Sam realized they'd stopped moving and he frowned as he peered out the window. They were parked next to a telephone pole, he guessed, and with a startled blink, he caught a glimpse of blond hair shimmying upward, not so much a monkey on a stick as freaking Spider-man.

"What are we doing?" Sam whispered. It felt too quiet

:: I need a hardline. ::

Oh, right. Sam closed his eyes, tried to concentrate on sending like Bee had taught him. :: You're going to tell them where we are? ::

:: Not us.::

:: Okay..:: Sam tasted sweat beading on his upper lip. He'd never been very good at this, never tried it much outside of sex. :: Then what are you doing? ::

"Contacting the others to let them know where Mikaela and your parents are." Bee's holo speaking in the silence made Sam jump and the sound he made could probably count as a shriek, if a person was uncharitable.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm his jumpy heart, "But...what if the Decepticons-"

"Trust me. Please." There was a note of desperation in his voice mod and when Bee turned to look at him, that glow was still in his eyes. Jesus, it was a little freaky, Bee's holo had never really seemed like anything other than a human, most times, and that visceral reminder that he was anything but—

"I trust you," Sam said, softly. Because he did. Really, he did. "You aren't telling them where we are." It wasn't a question.

"Not yet."

"Bumblebee—"

"I can't let you near them yet." Bumblebee said, quietly. He shifted, blurring, and suddenly he was sitting next to Sam, leaning in towards him in a way that made Sam's somewhat neglected receptors stir in reaction, reminding him he hadn't gotten a charge since this morning. Bee's mouth was soft, inviting, and Sam leaned in, ready to taste it – only to blink in surprise when Bee leaned away, pressing a gentle hand against Sam's chest.

"What?" Sam asked, bewildered but not into that gray area of pain he ended up in when his receptors were too low.

"Sam, think for a moment," Bee said, low, "You were alone with a Decepticon and he did something to you. I can't let you near the others, or me, until I run a deep scan of your receptors codes."

The sudden chill in Sam's gut had nothing to do with the cooling nighttime temperature, a thick chunk of dread settling into his stomach. "You think he gave me a virus or something."

"It's possible." Bee said, grimly. "I need to scan you, soon."

* * *

While there were similarities, consumption of true Cybertronian high-grade was not precisely the same as a human drinking alcohol. For one, there was none of the unpleasantness of a hangover associated with it. To a mech, fuel was fuel and a higher grade only enhanced the processors pleasantly, so long as it was properly purified.

Purification was the key and that was one process that Ratchet was far from perfecting. When it was loaded with contaminations, well, that's where the processor aches came from and the impurities in Ratchet's batch of homebrew were so thick a human could see it with a naked eye.

"Not exactly Kaon special, is it," Ratchet murmured aloud. He raised the canister to the ceiling in a silent toast, swallowing down one last draught before he sealed it back up, tucking it back into its hiding place. Of course, now that Ironhide knew he had it, he'd have to find a better spot; that mech drank like he had a hole in his fuel line.

Not that Ratchet wanted to think about that pain in the aft right now; not long after he'd gotten Ratchet worked up and then left him to drink alone, he'd gotten an uncharacteristically contrite comm message from his old friend letting him know that Optimus was otherwise occupied and therefore would not be able to help him out with his 'issue'. He'd offered to let Optimus know exactly why Ratchet needed to see him so badly, a suggestion that Ratchet had rejected with a truly brilliant spat of profanity. He needed to see Optimus, yes, needed to scrape armor with him; it might be nice to explain to him _why_, for once.

Optimus could be amazingly tolerant of Ratchet's quirks but he doubted that even Optimus was going to let Ratchet drop him to the floor again without a little chat.

That knowledge did nothing to improve Ratchet's mood. He stomped back upstairs, receptors itching within him, clamoring for attention, for energy that the damned things could very well take from him but stubbornly refused to do so.

For all his foul temper, he gentled his steps before he made his way back into the human side of the infirmary. Most of the little humans were asleep, their fragile bodies still beneath the monitors and the stasis blankets that were regulating the nanites repairs. Most but not all and Ratchet was not surprised to see Epps was awake. He turned to look at Ratchet as he entered and the rough bruises on his face were stark to Ratchet's sensors.

Bemused, Ratchet shook his head. An Ironhide in miniature, this one, all stubbornness and strength.

Jolt was across the infirmary, his hands moving the silent efficiency and gave Ratchet a curious glance as he stepped inside. Ratchet waved it off, running his hands through a sterile field to cleanse them. Humans were so terribly vulnerable, to germs and infection, and Ratchet was taking no chances.

"How's it going, doc?" Epps said softly, flicking a glance at the other two soldiers who shared his berth. Those two were asleep like good little patients, Ratchet noted with sour amusement.

"I'll be better once I watch you walk out of here," Ratchet retorted. With a quiet groan, he settled down next to Epp's berth to check on his progress. Lifting up the stasis blanket, he scanned Epp's damaged leg. The clear gel coating it allowed the nanites to move easily and also protected against infection. Nanites were for soft tissue damage and weren't designed to heal bone. He had the equipment for it but while Sam's fractured arm had posed little difficulty, Epps's leg was a particularly ugly injury, compounded by the fact he'd lain there for Primus knew how long before Ironhide had found him.

"How's it look?"

"Like a broken leg," Ratchet said dryly. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about the break until the surrounded tissue is in better condition. Are you in any pain?"

"Can't feel a thing," Epps said easily and Ratchet grunted, double-checking the monitor. Ironhide would happily lie about his medical complications if he thought it would get him back into the field faster and Ratchet had no doubt that his miniature would do the same. For once, he found surprising honesty. There were no stress levels indicated and Epps's heart rate indicated that he was relaxed and calm.

Which meant he was doing better than Ratchet was.

Epps's was silent for a long time as Ratchet worked, his lashes trembling against his cheek and for a moment, Ratchet thought he'd fallen asleep, until the human said, quietly. "You guys found the twins, right?"

Ratchet considered his answer before decided Epps had earned his honesty. "Yes."

"They're alive?"

"In a manner of speaking; currently, they are in stasis. It would be the equivalent of unconsciousness for you."

"So, like, a coma?"

"No, I can wake them up at any time. But they would be in pain. There's no point in waking them until I've repaired them."

"So why aren't you?"

"Because I only have two hands," Ratchet said with sour amusement. "And it isn't going to hurt him to wait a bit. You and the others, on the other hand-" Ratchet let that statement slide away, unspoken. "They are going to require a considerable amount of my attention and I want you humans settled before I give it."

"The yellow guy, SunnyD. He's pretty fucked up, huh."

Ratchet didn't look up from his work. "In more ways than one."

"He saved my life."

"I'm sure it was an accident," Sourly.

"Hey," Epps said sharply, raising his voice enough that the others next to him stirred restlessly. "Maybe you didn't hear me. He saved my life. He bled for me or leaked energon or whatever the fuck it is you guys do, he did it for me and that makes him my brother as far as I'm concerned so you can just watch what you fucking say."

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said with a rare note of quiet sincerity. Ratchet understood warrior mentality far too well.

"S'all right, no apology needed." Epps studied Ratchet with tired eyes, "I ain't gonna lie, Doc, you're looking rough.

Ratchet barked out a laugh. "You are lying there with your internals visibly in need of care and you're concerned about MY appearance?"

"It's not your appearance I'm worried about. You okay, Doc?"

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm just fine." Arousal squirming through him, but otherwise, it was true.

"You know, you save my life, too." Epps's voice was taking on a slurred quality, indicating that Ratchet's choice to increase his medication was having the desired effect,

"I save a lot of lives. Don't let it go to your head."

"Yeah?" Dark eyes slitted open, glaring at him. "Maybe you need to check your hearing, Doc. I said, you saved my life and I don't forget. Brothers, remember?"

"You may wish to keep that from Sunstreaker," Ratchet told him dryly. "He has strange notions about brothers."

* * *

Sam had no idea where they were anymore. Whatever internal GPS he'd had was long since gone, there was nothing but rock and roads, headlights cutting through the blackness.

They hadn't gone too far, stopped wherever it was Bee had deemed safe enough and the two of them settled into the backseat, Sam's head pillowed in Bee's lap. Bee ran slim fingers over his temples, blunt nails skimming through the short hair.

"Sam," Bee said hesitantly, "I'm not a medic. My experience in code runs alongside with hacking."

"Okay." Sam agreed, mindlessly. He was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep, trembling minutely as Bee cupped his head in gentle hands.

Bee let out a harsh, unnecessary breath, "What I am trying to avoid saying is that I can't sedate you the same way Ratchet can. This is probably going to be uncomfortable."

"Bee," Sam said, distantly admiring calmness in his voice. "Just _do_ it."

"Okay," Bumblebee said, softly. "Close your eyes."

"If…if you find something, do you think you can fix it?"

"Close your eyes, Sam," So very softly, gentle as soothing a small child.

"Wait," Sam shifted, trying to sit up, failing against Bee's suddenly firm grip. "If you connect to me, won't you get—"

"Sam. _Close your eyes_," A hand was laid over his eyes and Sam grabbed it desperately, squeezing.

And then…like a thousand tiny electrified needles were traveling over him. Sam couldn't hold still, thrashing gracelessly in Bee's hands, low, thick sounds escaping him. He barely noticed Bee straddling him, holding him down, it seemed to go on forever, the high whine in his head reminiscent of a dentist drill, fuck, oh, god, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't.

Abruptly it was gone and Sam could breathe, feel the chill dampness of his own sweat, his shirt clinging clammily.

"Sam?" Bee said and Sam opened his eyes to look at him. Concerned, yes, eyes still bright but there was no fear in that gaze. No mourning.

Sam tipped his head up and closed his mouth over Bee's, no talking, not yet. Tasted the sweet warmth of his lips and Bee only kissed him back in the dimmed silence of his own backseat.

tbc


End file.
